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SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 



















THERE IS NO GRANDER VIEW 

Photo by H. W. Swope, Lock Haven, Penn’a 





Susquehanna 

Legends 

Collected in Central Pennsylvania 
By HENRY W. SHOEMAKER 


"The world is but a great story book, containing 
myriads of stories ." — loan Vronsky- 



ILLUSTRATED 


Published by The Bright Printing Company 
READING, PENNSYLVANIA 


19 13 

All rights reserved 






the same Jluthor 


“Pennsylvania Mountain Stories” 
“More Pennsylvania Mountain Stories” 
“The Indian Steps” 

“Tales of the Bald Eagle Mountains” 


“Immaterial Verses” 

“Random Thoughts” 
“Pennsylvania Mountain Verses” 
“Elizabethan Days” 









I 




INTRODUCTION. 



LTHOUGH four volumes of Penn- 
sylvania mountain legends collect- 
ed by the undersigned have previ- 
ously appeared, the compiler feels 
that unless he publishes all which seem to him 
to possess some intrinsic merit, his work is not 
ended. While as literary efforts they leave 
much to be desired, as pictures of the times old 
and new, and a glimpse of the folk-lore of the 
region they have some right of existence. The 
folk-lore of many foreign lands is a part of 
their literature and ideals, the history of the 


Xlll 



countries cannot be reckoned without it. In 
some countries it is collected under government- 
al patronage. England and Ireland are devot- 
ing much time to it of late, Scotland has always 
made it a part of her national story, France, 
Germany, Russia, Japan and India would lose 
much of the picturesqueness of their literature 
did it not exist. 

To a certain extent the old legends of New 
England, of the South, and those springing up 
around the conquest of the West, have given 
a firm beginning to the folk-lore of the United 
States. In Pensylvania a magnificent effort was 
made by the late Judge D. C. Henning, of Potts- 
ville, but death claimed him before he had half 
completed the task for which, through deep hu- 
man sympathy and literary skill, he was pre- 
eminently fitted. 

In a comparatively small district, the Blue 
Mountain country in the Eastern part of the 
Commonwealth he acquired many beautiful 
and valuable legends. Some of these were iden- 
tified by masters of folk-lore as survivals of 
myths old in the world’s history. They showed 
the unchangeableness of human aspirations and 
belief. 


xiv 


In the Central part of Pennsylvania, where 
the present writer has confined his efforts, he 
has found a wide range of legendary lore. In 
fact so many stories have been told him that he 
has been at a loss to know which to try to pre- 
serve, which to discard. 

By collecting in book form most of the ones 
which seemed best to him, he has hoped to carry 
out the responsibility in satisfactory manner. 

It may be noted that there is a slight similar- 
ity between some of the tales. This shows their 
common origin. Out of a dozen which were 
brought to the Pennsylvania wilderness by the 
first settlers have grown a hundred versions, 
each distinctive to the locality where it is 
handed down. Even the legends which belong 
to the present generation have some subcon- 
scious tie with the past. The actors in them 
felt the welling of ancient emotions in their 
breasts and suited their lives and sorrows to the 
pathways of their ancestors. 

Viewing the legends deeper, and selecting 
those which have no association with earlier tra- 
ditions, they may point to some link with the 
infinite, with the unseen, towards which all 
thoughtful persons are struggling. To some 
primitive souls a peep behind the curtains of 


xv 


eternity may have been revealed, when denied 
to abler seekers. 

It is in the forest that voices were first heard, 
linking us to the beyond. There is always a 
thrill in the mysterious, the inexplicable. 

There are some of us who wish that every 
ghost story was true. These stories have the 
advantage of having been told to the writer as 
truth ; they are not inventions, which while be- 
ing read one can say “It is all made up.” Their 
verification or the mental states which produced 
them can only be obtained by putting oneself 
into the place — and times — of the participants 
in these sombre episodes. Their gloom is their 
worst defect — as legends — if they could end 
happily like Post Wheeler’s fascinating “Rus- 
sian Wonder Tales,” a much pleasanter impres- 
sion would linger. 

But the compiler has had no choice, he has 
had to set them forth exactly as he heard them, 
else they would cease to be legends and become 
mere hybrids between the facts and his imagina- 
tion. He has, in every case, transcribed the sto- 
ries as he heard them, except that, as stated in 
the introduction to his preceding volume, “Tales 
of the Bald Eagle Mountains,” they have lost 
in native charm and weirdness in passing 
through his hands, 
xvi 


Some of the stories in this volume relate to 
the passions of every day life, and differ widely 
from those relating to ghosts or Indians. It is 
for that reason they are inserted, to vary the 
trend of the book, to prevent if possible its read- 
ing like a monograph. 

A word regarding Central Pennsylvania it- 
self. There is no lovelier land that tradition or 
folk-lore could associate itself. The most 
beautiful streams and rivers rise in its midst; 
impressive peaked and castellated mountains, 
the grandest forests cover much of its area; its 
farms are fertile, its climate extraordinarily 
good, its people sprightly, clever, good-hearted, 
the best product of a mixed stock. Charming 
novels have already been woven about it from 
the facile pens of Prof. E. S. Pattee, Nelson 
Lloyd, and J. P. Mowbray. The region has pro- 
duced one poet of the first magnitude in James 
H. Campbell, an able philosopher in the late 
Jacob K. Huff. 

While the compiler of these old legends feels 
that he might have done better with the rich 
vein uncovered, yet he is content in the knowl- 
edge that others will finish the work more artis- 
tically, more analytically, more patiently. He ex- 
pects much from Warren S. Taylor, a young man 

xvii 


who is working along original lines, in the same 
broad field. He can only express his heartfelt 
thanks to the newspapers, and to the public, who 
have been so kind to him in the past. He has found 
encouragement and praise, has kept at the work 
because of it. He feels certain that this beloved 
region will have a permanent place in “song 
and story, ’ 1 from all that has been written about 
it by so many capable hands, and hopes that his 
part will be to help incline other writers to delve 
deeply into these fields Elysian. He wishes to ex- 
tend grateful appreciation to Mr. John H. Chat- 
ham, of McElhattan, Pa., his genial companion 
and dear friend on many trips into the wilds in 
search of the ancient traditions, who has given 
his time and sympathy so cheerfully to the sub- 
ject. 

HENRY W. SHOEMAKER. 

At Sea, 

March 9, 1913. 



I. 


TEEDYUSCUNG’S FACE. 
(Story of Mahantango Mountain.) 


HEN it was announced that 
Teedyuscung, the last great 
chief of the Lenni-Lenape, 
had been burned to death in 
his fishing-shanty at Nesco- 
peck, by Mingoes, there was 
considerable difference of 
opinion concerning the mo- 
tives prompting this cruel 
deed. Though Schela, a young squaw who was 
said to be deeply enamored of the aged chief- 
tain, rushed through the flames and rescued the 
body, at the cost of frightful disfigurement to 
herself, there was not much left of what was 
once mortal of this high-minded redman. His 
exact sense of justice had shown him that no 
matter how altruistic had been the motives of Wil- 
liam Penn, his disciples and descendants were 

19 



20 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


decidedly harsh and grasping in their dealings 
with the Indian race. In public speeches he had 
pointed to the unfairness of many of the land 
purchases, especially the one known as the walk- 
ing purchase. 

In it there was stipulated that the proprieta- 
ries were to buy a strip of land bounded by as 
far as a man could walk between sunrise and 
sunset. Teedyuscung demonstrated that in- 
stead of this, fleet runners were engaged, one of 
them running so fast and so far that he dropped 
dead on the way. These speeches aroused the 
Indians, and also incited the jealousies of the 
Germans and Scotch-Irish who hated the Qua- 
kers for their oppressive real estate tactics. 

The outspoken chieftain was considered a dan- 
gerous man by those high in the councils of the 
Proprietary party. He was first advised to 
move into the interior; he asked if his fishing 
camp at the foot of Mahantango Mountain, 
which looked out on that broad sweep of dead 
water which the colonists called the Irish Sea, 
would be satisfactory. He had actually arrived 
there pending an answer to his intimation, when 
orders came that he must move further on. The 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


21 


desire seemed to be to get him where his unan- 
swerable allegations could not be heard or car- 
ried. 

Or maybe there were more sinister motives. 
At any rate the old man gathered together his 
belongings and followed by a few faithful re- 
tainers, crossed the mountains to Nescopeck. The 
shallows there were a noted spawning-ground 
for shad, and salmon were abundant. He could 
fish the remainder of his days, even if he was 
denied the right to voice his people’s wrongs. 

His wife was dead, his sons and daughters 
dead or scattered ; he would have been spiritual- 
ly isolated but for the love of the beautiful In- 
dian girl. 

Her father Quiquingus had been one ;f the 
aged chief’s most faithful henchmen, but like so 
many others had been murdered through the 
treachery of supposed friends among the whites. 
“I am too old to take another wife,” the old 
chief remarked on numerous occasions, “but not 
too old to admire a fair young face.” In this 
happy philosophy he whiled away a few autumn 
days, repairing his nets for the spring fishing, 
trapping wild pigeons in their southerly flight, 


22 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


and being loved by Schela. But this blissful re- 
tirement was short-lived. 

A band of Mingo hunters, who professed the 
friendliest sentiments, appeared at the camp. 
They echoed Teedyuscung 's plaint that the red- 
men were being forced further and further west, 
that they had been cheated out of their posses- 
sions. The Mingoes explained that they were 
on their way to the North Mountains to stalk a 
herd of elk; there were at least five hundred 
animals in it, they averred. There would be 
winter's meat for all, hides and the precious 
elks' teeth a-plenty. They extended a cordial 
invitation to Teedyuscung and his party to ac- 
company them on the hunt. The old chief's eyes 
sparkled, ‘ ‘ Twenty years ago I should have gone 
gladly, but now I am too old, too old for every- 
thing except to express my indignation at the 
wrongs done my race." But seeing the disap- 
pointed expression in the faces of several of his 
tribesmen he pointed to them, saying “Let my 
brave bodyguard go with you, they will acquit 
themselves well in the chase." 

Ten stalwart braves were permitted to depart 
with the Mingoes. Two captains of unexcelled 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


23 


fidelity remained with their chief. They always 
slept with him in his lodge-house, a neatly con- 
structed little building of red-birch logs. There 
were seven squaws, including the fair Schela, 
who of course remained. They occupied anoth- 
er, and similarly built lodge-house a few hun- 
dred yards from the royal structure. There was 
a partially completed stockade, eight feet high, 
which was to enclose the two houses, and con- 
tinue down to the water’s edge. The other 
braves who had gone with the Mingoes usually 
slept in tents made from buffalo or elk hides, or 
under lean-to’s of boughs. 

All went well until one windy night, less than 
a week after the departure of the elk hunters, 
when the giant pines shuddered and shook and 
moaned in the chilling blast. It was as if their 
misery almost assumed articulate form perhaps 
to warn the sleeping Indians of some presenti- 
ment of danger in their sylvan souls. In the 
distant forest depths came the boom of giant 
trees falling, as if in running with their ill tid- 
ings, they had been tripped by forces in league 
with unkind destiny. 


24 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


Schela woke several times, rising ap in her 
couch, and muttering to herself that she did not 
like the way in which the pines were talking. 
“A thousand years ago,” she murmured, “the 
king of the Lenni-Lenape an ancestor of my 
dearest Teedyuscung, found a giant cave-bear 
chawing down Strobus, the great chief of the white 
pines; he killed the monster, and the great tree 
vowed gratitude, that his kind would forever warn 
the Lenni-Lenape of danger. ’ ’ She looked about 
her, in the gloom lay the six other squaws, sleep- 
ing soundly. It seemed a mistake to act on hasty 
impulse. She lay down again and tried to sleep. 
She reassured herself, too, because she did not 
hear the bark of Teedyuscung ’s Indian watch- 
dogs. Three times she committed the foolish 
act of resisting the only true source of knowl- 
edge, intuition. Once she fell into a doze; she 
dreamed she saw a sunset which turned into a 
flame, and burned up all the world, her world. 
She rose up with a little cry — as she did so she 
thought she heard the crack of burning wood, 
it seemed as if she smelled smoke, it was fresher 
than the last vapors of the evening’s campfires. 
But it was not until she saw the smoke drifting 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


25 


through the chinks of the lodge-house that she 
clambered to her feet, and ran out into the clear- 
ing. To her horror she found Teedyuseung ’s 
lodge-house in flames ; the bark roof had already 
fallen in ; it was like a blazing caldron. She did 
not hesitate for an instant, but plunged boldly 
through the red-hot fire. Under the flaming 
debris from the roof lay three bodies, frightfully 
charred. Digging among it, she quickly recog- 
nized the regal profile of Teedyuseung; he had 
a nose like the Grand Monarch, and oblivious of 
the fact that the fringe of her fawnskin garment 
was already ablaze, she dragged the corpse to- 
wards the doorway. Just as she was emerging 
the whole structure fell and she was stunned by 
dropping timbers. Luckily she fell outside, 
pushing the corpse ahead of her, as she went 
down. She was unconscious for a minute, dur- 
ing which time all her hair was burned off; one 
side of her face, which lay in the hot coals, was 
frightfully disfigured. She afterwards lost the 
sight of one eye. 

The other squaws slept soundly all through 
the entire horrible catastrophe. They did not 


26 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


wake until Schela boxed their ears, and rolled 
them about to rouse them. 

Dazed and grief-stricken they did all they 
could to minister to her in her sufferings. The 
heroic girl thought nothing of herself, but kept 
crying out for Teedyuscung to come back to life. 
“The lodge-house was set on fire by those Min- 
goes” she shouted in her delirium. Bear grease 
was smeared over her liberally, and she managed 
to get about. She laid the charred body of her 
aged lover, all wrapped in the best deer skins, 
in a cool place, under laurels and hemlocks, kiss- 
ing the blackened forehead with an inhuman 
frenzy. Outside the stockade she found the 
watchdogs with their throats cut ; her suspicions 
were confirmed. She searched the ruins of the 
royal lodge-house but could find little else beside 
the teeth of the incinerated henchmen. These 
she gathered together and placed in a small box 
made of canoe-birch bark. In her wounded 
condition she dare not travel to seek help, but 
it would have been a useless quest at best. All 
but a few Germans and Scotch-Irish would have 
rejoiced at the news of Teedyuscung ’& death; 
she could have gotten little sympathy or comfort. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


27 


Luckily the weather was cool and the remains 
of the dead king were in no danger of puri- 
fication. Every night when she retired she 
looked up at the lofty pines. “Oh, why 
did I disregard your warning” was her 
plaint to them. But in the long run her earlier 
appearance on the scene would have availed but 
little. If the murderous Indians had seen her, 
they would have strangled her instantly ; Teedy- 
uscung would have been overcome by superior 
numbers and tomahawked instead of roasted to 
death in his lodge-house. 

On the eighth night after the tragedy the elk 
hunters returned empty-handed. They had 
found no traces of elks in the particular part of 
the North Mountains visited. After hunting 
with the Mingoes for several days, the latter 
suggested that they separate and hunt in differ- 
ent directions. The Lenni-Lenape thought this 
a good idea, they could cover a wider territory 
thereby. They encountered no elks, became dis- 
couraged, returned to Nescopeck. And what a 
change met their eyes. 

In the twilight they beheld the ruins of Teedy- 
uscung’s lodge-house, while Schela, terribly dis- 


28 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


figured, hobbled out of her hut to meet them. 
There was wailing and lamentation all that 
night, as sonorous and weird as the portent of 
the pines the evening of the butchery. There 
was vengeance vowed ‘‘long and deep/’ ven- 
geance as impotent as that of an injurel soul 
against the infinite. The heart-broken braves all 
knelt beside the hideous remnant of their king, 
and kissed the still inviolate ridge of his regal 
nose. Only a woman who was beloved by a de- 
ceased monarch could kiss his brow or lips. 

The braves suggested that the chieftain be 
buried before the ground became frozen. Schela 
was at first loathe to part with the beloved re- 
mains, but consented to an interment, to be made 
at his favorite fishing-ground at the foot of Ma- 
hantango Mountain. Decked out in freshly 
made war regalia, with masses of eagle feathers, 
elks’ teeth, fisher’s fur and deerskins, with his 
favorite musket tucked under his right arm, the 
dead king was laid in state in a pirogue. A flo- 
tilla manned by the braves and squaws sur- 
rounded the funeral barge as guard of honor, 
and started down the stream. The settlers along 
the banks came out and gazed in speechless cu- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


29 


riosity. At Fort Augusta a party of frontier 
guards, who were off duty and hunting swans, 
fired at the sombre-looking fleet. One squaw 
was killed; the survivors considered themselves 
fortunate that they got into the reaches of the 
Irish Sea without more serious casualties. It 
was a country where Indians were thoroughly 
hated; they must be constantly reminded that 
they were not wanted. 

It was a beautiful afternoon in Indian Sum- 
mer when the canoe flotilla came to anchor at 
the foot of Mahantango Mountain. The place 
of debarkation w r as on the precise spot where 
Liverpool station, on the Northern Central Rail- 
way, now stands. The craft, containing the 
body, was lifted out of the water, and reverently 
carried up on the bank. Then the braves pro- 
ceeded to the spot where the great chief’s fish- 
ing-lodge had stood for so many years. It was 
a hundred yards east of the spring, which has 
been transformed into a well, with a pump- 
stock in it, and to-day furnishes sweet water to 
thirsty travellers. The fishing house had been 
torn away to the last vestige by the emissaries 
of the Quaker government when they had order- 


30 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


ed Teedyuscung to “move on” only two months 
before. 

Where the structure had stood a grave was 
now dug, and corpse, pirogue, finery, lowered 
into it. The trench was filled with heavy rocks, 
and a mound of rocks several feet high erected 
over it, to serve as a protection against the ra- 
pacity of wolves and mountain cats, and as a 
marker of the sacred spot. When the interment 
was completed, just at sundown, the Indians 
joined in a weird song; it was more like a re- 
quiem for their race rather than the lament for 
an individual. Then all withdrew to the bank 
where their canoes were beached, and lit the cus- 
tomary campfires. 

The sun had set clear and cold, every indica- 
tion pointed to a calm night. The Indians were 
so depressed and desolate that they said little 
and ate little. All wrapped themselves in their 
blankets, and tried to forget themselves in sleep, 
as soon as the scanty repast was finished. Dur- 
ing the night a wind arose, and a cold, wet rain 
fell by spells. Gradually the wind grew into 
a tempest of unprecedented fierceness ; it was a 
storm such as raged the night that Oliver Crom- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


31 


well died. The Indians were roused by the terrific 
gusts of wind and rain, by the lapping of huge 
waves against the shore; the Irish Sea, usually 
so benign, was like midocean in its fury. The 
roar of falling trees was bad enough, but pres- 
ently huge rocks began to roll from the far, dis- 
tant topmost heights of Mahantango Mountain. 

The Indians hopped to their feet, only to hud- 
dle in the lea of the canoes, as the huge boulders 
tumbled by on every side, toppling into the 
river with heavy splashes. To-day many of 
these stones, rearing their black heads, like sea- 
lions, are apparent at low water. The number 
and size of the falling rocks increased; it was 
as if the entire mountain was crumbling down. 
There was a hideous, ripping sound, as land- 
slides carrying with them rocks, and trees as 
well as earth, scarred the whole face of the gi- 
gantic mountain in their irresistible course. 

It seemed providential that the little body of 
Indians, huddled at the water’s edge, were not 
wiped out of existence. But they were to be 
spared to witness a morning, with a transforma- 
tion the nature of which they would never for- 
get. As long as it was dark the tornado and the 


32 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


avalanche continued. With the first faint glow 
of dawn, the miracle was revealed. High up on 
the mountain, silhouetted against the sky, in the 
pink eastern light, they saw the aquiline face of 
Teedyuscung, the murdered chief of the Lenni- 
Lenape. During the hurricane, the inscrutable 
forces of nature had carved it, distinct and pho- 
tographically correct to the smallest haughty de- 
tail, in the black, flint-like rock. Some over- 
hanging branches above created the appearance 
of the war-bonnet. Forgotten would be the 
knaves who slew him, or the mercenary wretches 
who instigated the crime, but the features of 
this noble redman were to be preserved forever 
and forever. Whether the face had appeared 
to inspire the remnant of the Lenni-Lenape to 
put into effect their threats of vengeance, or 
merely to preserve to future ages the kingly pro- 
file of this mighty chief, can never be told. The 
funeral band, when they saw it became rigid 
with terror, or perhaps reverence; they could 
not stir for hours, until the sun was high in the 
heavens, and was sparkling like diamonds on 
the Irish Sea. Then they suddenly relaxed, and 
burst into pitiful weeping. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


33 


The loving Sckela led the way back to the ca- 
noes, and the mourners clambered aboard, and 
were soon paddling up-stream. At the mouth 
of Penn’s Creek they changed their plans, and 
started out this picturesque little river. It is 
said that they were the progenitors of the small 
but hardy band of Indians who defied the whites 
so long in Little Sugar Valley, until they were 
finally wiped out through treachery, at their 
stronghold in Colby’s Gap. 



II. 


THE MAN WHO LOVED A FAIRY. 
(Story of Mt. Pipsisseway.) 

HE tradition of a hot boiling 
spring, and more particularly 
of a crystal cavern, somewhere 
on Mt. Pipsisseway near 
Quinn’s Run, had always pos- 
sessed a strange fascination 
for the young antiquarian. 

The grave old man who told 
him about the wonders was too 
feeble to accompany him, the younger men too 
skeptical or unsympathetic to make desirable 
companions. Unaccompanied the young man 
had made several unsuccessful trips all over 
the summits and the irregular face of the giant 
mountain, “the mountain that the sun sets back 
of,” but he was far from discouraged. The old 
man would draw rude diagrams with pencil on 
the backs of envelopes and enter into lengthy 
34 



SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


35 


explanations, but the secret was well hidden. 
To many persons with whom he discussed the 
subject came the unfavorable suggestion that if 
the lumbermen “who had been all over the 
mountain” had failed to observe any cavern, 
there was small chance it existed. 

But believing in the old pioneer, he continued 
his search manfully. But at length it seemed 
he had been all over the mountain ; he was wast- 
ing time which might be spent to better advant- 
age elsewhere. There were scores of ghost 
stories to be unravelled in the Seven Mountains. 
He was making himself ridiculous crawling as 
would a fly over the surface of some huge cake. 

Late one afternoon on one of his searches, 
when he returned to the tree where he had tied 
his riding horse, he found that the animal had 
been prancing about until he had broken through 
a sink hole. Had he not been a sagacious ani- 
mal, as entire horses usually are, he would have 
broken his legs in his inextricable position. The 
young man got the horse out of the hole, but in 
doing so noticed that there was a deep opening 
which resembled the mouth of a fissure or cave. 
He peered into the mouth of the chasm, there 


36 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


seemed to be plenty of room inside. Securely 
tieing his horse aft^r watering him, he returned 
with his lantern and entered the aperture. 

Once inside he was overjoyed, he had re-dis- 
covered the cave so often described to him by 
the old mountaineer. There was a sheer descent 
of nearly a hundred feet, down a wall of soft 
clay, at the bottom of which began a series of 
large chambers and labyrinths. He traveled 
about a quarter of a mile, sometimes crawling 
on his hands and knees through mud, smiling 
to himself as he recollected the saying ‘ ‘ a person 
who is afraid to get dirty will only see half the 
world,” other times standing erect, to marvel at 
chambers jewelled with stalactites, with vaulted 
roofs twenty feet high. While gazing in rapt 
admiration at some particularly exquisite forma- 
tions, he felt as if somebody was near him. He 
looked around, noticing nothing ; he looked down 
and saw a tiny little golden-haired girl. She 
had the proportions of a grown person, yet she 
wasn ’t taller than the average child of two years. 
He noticed that her features, which inclined a 
trifle to the aquiline, were very good, her eyes 
were large and blue, her complexion pink and 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


37 


white and free from blemishes of any kind. She 
wore what seemed to be a deep bine pansy as a 
cap, and her costume, with rather short skirt, 
was also of blue, of a queer woolen-like material. 
A white knitted collar alone relieved the color 
scheme. He was not conscious that his lips were 
moving, but he seemed to be speaking to her. 
He noticed that her lips moved, and while he 
understood clearly what she was saying, he could 
not hear her. “Can it be,” it flashed through 
his mind, “that there is a roar of some subter- 
ranean torrent in this cavern, maybe the hot, 
boiling spring, that drowns the sound of the 
human voice ! ’ 1 

Then he was conscious that the little girl by 
his side was telling him that while he was hu- 
man, he had some of the stuff of the gods or the 
immortals in him, and that she was only partly 
human, a fairy. 

A fairy she let it be understood, is the de- 
scendant of a union between a beautiful ghost 
and a living man, oh, so long, long ago. Fairies 
then are ghosts with corporeal forms, mortals who 
live for an indefinite period. “As long as God 
lets us” they phrase it. 


38 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


It was rather awkward for the young anti- 
quarian, although he was by no means a tall 
man, to keep looking down on the little girl, or 
fairy. He seated himself on a broad stalagmite, 
and she curled up her little legs and sat down 
beside him. He noticed what tiny little bits of 
feet she had, that instead of shoes, they were 
tucked into dun-colored curled flowers, some 
kind of underground orchids. Then he noticed 
that she snuggled up close beside him as a tired 
baby often does, and placed one of her little 
hands in his. He started to squeeze it, but it 
was like holding an Easter lily too tightly. At 
this hand pressure the little fairy looked up in 
his face, with her appealing deep blue eyes. 
“She must be an Irish fairy’ ’ to have such eyes, 
he thought. But the little fairy could read his 
thoughts, and he understood that while the be- 
ginning of all fairies is Celtic, her race lived so 
long in South Germany, that even transplanted 
to the Susquehanna country, they were of Teu- 
tonic predictions. Then as the little creature 
snuggled closer, she gave him to understand she 
could change him, temporarily, into a person of 
her own size, though she could not make herself 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


39 


the size of a human being. He let himself be 
changed gladly; it was incongruous for him, a 
big, healthy youth, to try to embrace a little girl 
no bigger than a two-year old baby, when the 
mere holding her hand was like crushing an 
Easter lily. When he found himself the same 
size, she looked to him the most beautiful being 
he had ever seen. Was it so, or merely because 
of point of view, or their isolated propinquity? 

“Hermionie, Cleise, Sylvania, what are they 
compared to this fair girl now so closely held in 
his arms?” Never had embrace seemed more 
vibrant, or kisses more enchanting. The first 
kiss initiated him into a new world of rapture; 
there was nothing in the old days on the earth 
above that could equal this. They seemed to 
have much in common. 

The young man while unable to show any 
fairy origin, could boast of an ancestor who was 
a Gipsy. “A Gipsy loved a beautiful ghost, he 
had loved her in her lifetime, but he lost her, 
only to regain her at a waterfall, long after- 
wards, a frail and shrinking spirit.” That ex- 
plained why the antiquarian could enter into 
kinship with his pretty comrade of fairyland. 


40 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


As he had never felt such love in the actual, 
living world, and oft times for weary months at 
a stretch had never known any love at all, he re- 
solved to make the most out of this rapturous 
opportunity. 

In love, time and space are as nothing — the rest 
of the world stands still when two persons love. 
If he ever thought of the gallant black horse 
tethered far above, he knew he was oblivious; 
literally turned to stone for the time being. The 
touch of the little creature, once he had become 
her size, was the most entrancing he had ever 
felt; he knew now what meant all this prating 
about Paradise. Surely someone who has been 
there has returned — else how would those who 
have experienced its sensations in this life, know 
what it was like at all. 

In the anguish of love, we forget the most 
pressing obligations, or postpone them, but not 
so when in the arms of a scion of the other- 
world, who divines our motives, our needs. 

How long the antiquarian would have con- 
tinued that one long, exquisite embrace, that re- 
minded so much of a mortal peering into the in- 
finitive— probably forever. What was there in 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


41 


this joy that knew no ending, to call him to an 
outside world, where his constant battle was to 
be understood. He had found that a rapture 
growing keener and stronger each instant was 
the supreme answer to the riddle of existence. 
His spiritual faculties being merged in the spirit 
of the little girl, she detected his duty to others 
from the mass of half recognized motives which 
poured into her soul from his. Had she not been 
a fairy, a being mainly spiritual, all duty would 
have been lost, like in the carnal loves of life, 
when a man buries his thought of parents, wife, 
or children, in some engulfing lust. 

His presence with the little girl could only 
last as long as she deemed right; happy is he 
who enjoys a spiritual love. All this time he 
could not recollect that he had said a word to 
her, unless the sound of his voice was drowned 
by the roar of a subterranean boiling stream. 
Probably several days of happy mental intercourse 
passed, yet the young antiquarian experienced 
no desire to return to the outer world. It was 
the little fairy who pressed her cool cheek 
against his and told him of his duty to others, 
of how he could not always remain with her in 


42 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


the cavern. He asked her, or imagined he asked 
her if she had no ties, but she said that only 
mortals owned such things as responsibilities. 
While he was kissing her soft red lips she 
changed him back to his natural size. He could 
scarcely realize that his armful of a minute be- 
fore stood by his side, a dwarf, a midget. It was 
as if he had suddenly climbed to the top of a 
mountain and was looking down at her. But 
small as she now appeared to him, he still felt 
the thrill which she had sent through his flesh, 
he hated to leave her. ‘ 4 Isn’t there,” he inti- 
mated to her, “some way in which you can ac- 
quire the power to become my equal in size and 
come with me into the big world?” The little 
fairy hung her head, and tears came in the cor- 
ners of her violet eyes. “I know of no power 
such as you wish. It is an immutable law that 
a mortal can take on the shape of immortality, 
but an immortal can never become flesh and 
blood.” 

The young man protested his deep love, his 
admiration for her witching beauty, the necess- 
ity of her companionship, his sonw at leaving 
her. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


43 


The little fairy sank down on the stalagmite, 
and sobbed piteously. 

“I did not know that an immortal could 
weep, ,, he said, getting down on his knees to 
comfort her. ‘ ‘ Immortality is only eternal tears. 
We may live almost forever, yet we cannot be 
like the living people we love most.” 

“Oh, what can I do to assuage your grief” he 
implored. “You say I must fulfill my duty to 
others and return to the big world, and yet you 
cry when I start to go. ’ ’ 

‘ 1 If you must know the real cause of my tears, 
it is because I want you to take me with you into 
the big world ; I was afraid to ask you. ’ ’ 

At this the young man was silent. Sitting 
down, he put his great sinewy arm around the 
little mite. When he pressed her near to him, 
she felt soft and spongy as a cuttle-fish. She 
was not made of flesh and blood; she could not 
endure in his world. 

“You could not go to the big world, you would 
be a lost soul. 

“And I am a lost soul here without you,” she 
replied, sobbing more piteously. 


44 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


In his heart the young man knew he did not 
want to take her with him because she was so 
tiny, her very inconspicuousness would make her 
conspicuous. And worst of all, he was pain- 
fully aware that she knew these secret thoughts, 
and they were the cause of her great grief. 
“You would be unhappy in my world” he con- 
tinued. “You, with your cosmic wisdom surely 
know that.” 

“Yes, yes, I do,” she answered between sobs, 
“but even an immortal can have pride wounded, 
and be unreasonable. ’ ’ 

The young man pondered a moment. ‘ ‘ I have 
told you of my deep love, your vast wisdom tells 
you that it is correct, and that I would return 
often to see you, will not that suffice?” 

“Of course it will” she faltered, “anything to 
be with you, but if you loved me as I wanted to 
be loved, you would take and make me a part 
of your own world.” 

“But you would feel out of place, and pine 
for your crystal caves. There is a vast difference 
between this sweet calm life of love, and the tur- 
moil of the physical life.” 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


45 


“ It is the curse put on every fairy, that sooner 
or later she must love a mortal, and he crushed 
by him, like you mash a rose in your hand. 
It is a part of destiny, I may as well submit to 
mine,” she said, bracing herself, and pulling 
down the tails of her coat, very like a mortal 
woman. 

* ‘ I will return often, and we can be happy to- 
gether; this cave will know that joy we hear so 
much of, the joy that passeth all understanding. 
Mind you, dearest, I do not want to go now, I 
am only leaving because you have reminded me 
of duties in the outer world. I even realize I 
have been harsh with my poor horse, he must be 
frantic now for food and drink.” 

‘ 1 Oh, no , 1 * said the little fairy, wiping her eyes 
with a bunch of white moss, “I thought of all 
that when we entered. I made a signal to some 
of my fairy comrades who have kept your noble 
steed fed and amused while w T e loved in this 
labyrinth. ’ ’ 

“But is there a fairy lover in your life, too?” 
said the young man, his curiosity piqued. 

‘ ‘ There was, but once a fairy has loved a mor- 
tal, she has neither eyes nor sex for one of her 


46 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


own kind. She is forever afterwards sexless to 
fairy lovers. By loving a mortal, paradoxically, 
she becomes adamant to immortal wooers.” 

The young man mused to himself why was 
there no way that the torture of former lovers 
could be thus effectively effaced in the real world. 
It was an added reason why he would like to re- 
main in the cave. The big world had no charms 
for him except for his family ties, the art, lit- 
erature, music, beauty it contained. The dark 
wilderness he always felt was his natural home, 
his logical home some day. It is in the wilderness 
that new impressions are being constantly 
created; in the cities men and women are kept 
going by artificial impressions, which in reality 
are old impressions rendered over and over again. 
The city is the phonograph of human exper- 
ience. But the sense of love and duty, which he 
had forgotten in the crystal cave, was with him 
again, departure was inevitable. In this 
cave he had experienced pangs of emotion such 
as he never dreamed existed, he could imagine 
what had been the pleasures of the spiritual in- 
habitants of the woods and grottoes in the far 
distant “mythological times.” He understood 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


47 


that a time would come when our humanity will 
be semi-intelligible, or myths, to the inhabitants 
of this earth in ages far in the measureless fu- 
ture. He resolved to return often to the cave, 
he had striven to discover it for several years, 
now it had been found, and contained a hidden 
joy far beyond his anticipations. There would 
now be an excuse for visiting the mountains more 
vital that the dream-sensations of the dim cloud- 
wreathed peaks, the haze above the waterfalls, 
the sunsets of cerise, the caverns and Indian 
burial grounds. 

All the gamut of his existence, its whys and 
wherefores, was rising before him, as he hade 
goodbye to his celestial companion. When he 
kissed the tiny lips there was a bitterness, a 
difference about it, he could not quite grasp, but 
the memory of past joys atoned for the lessened 
emotion of the present. He pulled a bracelet 
from his pocket, he had intended it for another 
girl, he slipped it over her hand, it fell off, it 
was much too large ; it could almost have encir- 
cled her waist. He left the little fairy in the 
Gothic-domed chamber with its “bush-ham- 
mered” walls; she did not attempt to follow him 


48 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


to the entrance. For some unknown reason, he 
did not ask her. He merely waved goodbye. 

Through the muddy labyrinths he crawled, he 
trod the mammoth apartments, he clambered up 
the steep face of the vault, slipping and sliding 
in the mucky clay. The air seemed oppressively 
warm when he got outside. It was early after- 
noon, he judged, just about the kind of a dull 
cloudy, wintry day he had entered the cave. Had 
this all been a dream, caused by some marasmus 
vapors, or subterranean gases, or had he been 
in the cavern for days or perhaps weeks! He 
examined the horse critically. It seemed to be in 
no need of food or drink. He recollected how 
the little fairy had told him of having given in- 
structions to have the animal attended to in his 
absence. Could this be true? If he had been 
underground for several days or a week, how 
came it that he felt neither thirst nor hunger. 
Had he really met a fairy at all, and been 
changed to her size, and made love to her, or 
was the whole affair a product of a too acute 
imagination? He recollected how beautiful she 
was, and there were moments when he actually 
regretted his refusal to take her with him. He 


































































































? 


















THE MOUTH OF MOSHANNON 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


49 


might keep her hidden in his home, and she 
could change him to her size ; in the stillness of 
the night be his spiritual comrade to end his 
loneliness. 

As he pondered over these perplexing fancies, 
the brave little horse was cantering along the 
mountain road, bringing him nearer and nearer 
to town. By the time he had reached the old 
closed bridge which spanned the river, he wished 
he was back in the cave, and blamed himself 
without measure. 

When he reached the livery barn in the alley 
back of the court-house, a dwarf ran out to take 
his horse. He had seen this dwarf for several 
years, they called him “Jeff” after a comic 
artist ’s nightmare of broken-down respectability, 
but he had never noticed him closely before. 
How odd and incongruous the creature seemed 
on this occasion, with his huge head, the bald 
skull, the short “banty” legs. Why should a 
hideous dwarf take his horse just when he was 
thinking about a beautiful little midget who 
dwelt in a cave, whose ancestors had been 
brought in a woolsack from South Germany? 
The sight of the diminutive hostler suddenly up- 


50 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


set his illusion; the horrible thought crossed his 
mind that if he had brought the dear little thing 
with him she would have appeared just as odd. 
And as quickly he blamed himself for the 
cowardice of his soul. Just as some persons shun 
being seen on the streets with the shabby or un- 
attractive, he would leave the unhappy fairy in 
her cave, because her size would make her look 
odd in polite society. He pulled himself to- 
gether, and asked the dwarf the date. The little 
man pointed to it on a huge calendar, sent to the 
livery boys by a popular newspaper. He looked 
at it, he had been in the cave for three days and 
nights ! What had happened in the world since 
then, while he had been “out of space, out of 
time.” 

A feeling of terrible depression settled down 
on him, he did not care to look at the newspapers 
in the stable office. He hurried from the barn, 
without saying goodnight to the dwarf. At the 
end of the alley, he turned about, and returned, 
to give a liberal tip to him. Why was he so un- 
just to the little people this day! He reached 
the railroad station fifteen minutes ahead of 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


51 


train time. There was plenty of time to medi- 
tate. 

The evening was dark and cloudy, and be- 
coming bitterly cold. The clouds, vast and soot 
colored, relieved only by a heart-shaped patch of 
cerise light, hung heavy over the summits of 
Mt. Pipsisseway. Two dead white pines, girdled 
to prevent their shading a trackman’s garden 
patch, at the side of the station, rattled and 
shook like skeletons in the night wind. Gaunt 
and lonely, the young man paced up and down 
the station platform. His thoughts, revealing 
the innate selfishness of his soul, were consuming 
him. Though he had loved the little fairy, and 
expected all her love far in the depths of the 
crystal cave, he could not permit her to come in- 
to his world where she could be seen. He wanted 
his own pleasure, his sense of the beautiful grat- 
ified secretely, but her wishes meant nothing. 
Should he conquer this worldly pride and go 
back to the mountain in a week and bring her 
away, to a world where if she could not be 
happy, at least he could try to make her happy. 
Pressing his lips tightly together, as was his 
wont when dismayed, he let meaner views pre- 


52 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


vail, and vowed he would never return to the 
cave. ‘ ‘ I cannot see her unhappy by refusing to 
take her with me; I cannot ask her love, yet 
secretely feel ashamed for people to see her. I 
am giving up a spiritual joy the like I will never 
experience again, yet as a memory three days of 
bliss are as good as three years/ * 

His thoughts and reasonings were brought to a 
stop by hearing the whistle of the approaching 
train. As the head-light, half veiled in yellow 
smoke, emerged from the gloom, he took one last 
look at the western sky. The heart-shaped patch 
of cerise light had descended, and spread like a 
mantle of brocade over the tree-dotted, expan- 
sive summits of Mt. Pipsisseway. 




III. 


IN THE FOOTHILLS. 

(A Story of the Upper Mahantango.) 

PANTHER is harder to kill 
than a snake’ ’ said old man 
Rau. “A snake will die when 
the sun goes down, but not so 
with the panther, there are 
certain moonlight nights when 
he ’ll always come to life 
again. ’ ’ 

We were sitting around the 
old hunter’s stove, one cold November morning, 
listening to his varied reminiscences of three 
quarter’s of a century of wilderness life. His 
little cabin was situated on a picturesque neck 
of woods which jutted into the upper Mahan- 
tango Creek, not far from its headwaters, in the 
foothills of Firestone Mountains. 

Old Rau was of the tall gaunt type of moun- 
taineer; in the army his comrades had dubbed 

53 



54 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


him Longstreet because of his resemblance to 
that famous Confederate general. He had, de- 
spite his eighty years, a fine head of white hair, 
as wiry as Andrew Jackson’s, and a flowing 
white beard of patriarchal proportions. As he 
grew older, and he reverted to the habit of his 
childhood and spoke only the picturesque Penn- 
sylvania German tongue, it was harder than 
formerly for a stranger to glean many of his in- 
teresting experiences. But on this occasion, 
stimulated by the presence of one of his old 
army friends, he was particularly communica- 
tive, especially about his favorite panther story. 

“I guess you have heard lots of stories about 
spook panthers” he went on. “There was one 
over to the White Mountains back of Troxel- 
ville, about ten or eleven years ago; it was the 
last of a dozen such tales I have heard in my 
time. We old settlers thought we’d never rid 
this country of panthers; after tracking them 
and killing them, they always insisted in com- 
ing back in the form of ghosts. These ghosts 
were harder to get rid of than the live ones. From 
Joe Knepp, Johnny Swartzell and other old hun- 
ters I hear tell of panthers being seen in these 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


55 


mountains at the present time, but I strongly be- 
lieve they are only the ghosts of the varmints we 
killed fifty years ago. But now as I grow older I 
realize that the panther wasn’t so much of a var- 
mint after all. He had his place in the order of 
nature. When we had plenty of panthers we 
had lots of deer, and wild turkeys, and pheas- 
ants, and wild pigeons. With no panthers all 
we have left is a lot of degenerate, half-tame game, 
not worth a real hunter’s time to go out and 
shoot. Panthers ate all the sickly and weakly 
game, animals and birds; they left alive only 
the healthy active stock, there was no danger 
of a pestilence wiping out a whole species as 
there is now. 

“In those days there was no pheasant disease. 
We old hunters didn’t know this until too late, 
it took us over half a century to get through 
our heads what ‘ the survival of the fittest ’ meant. 
When we did, gone were the panthers, and every- 
thing else with them. Well, I mustn’t get off 
my story of this one particular spook panther. 

‘ ‘ Old J ake Sansom killed him the year I came 
back from the war, in ’64 ; he caught him in the 
act of entering his chicken house, and shot him 


56 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


through the hind-quarters. The animal backed 
out as best he could, and then young Dave San- 
som shot him in the head. Old Jake was an an- 
tic sort of chap ; he liked fun and nonsense. He 
took the hide, which was a very fine one and very 
dark in color — it is an odd fact but the panthers 
got darker the further south they were found; 
the Adirondack panthers were yellow, the Pot- 
ter County panthers almost red, a Florida 
panther was nearly black — and stuffed it 
with straw and leaves. We did not know of 
taxidermists or glass eyes in those days, so the 
completed job looked rather uncanny with the 
great gaping, empty eye sockets. It measured a 
good nine feet from nose to tip of tail, and 
you can picture a pretty good-sized brute from 
that. After stuffing the hide, the old man set it 
up on the ridge-pole of his wood-house, which 
fronted on the public road leading to Centreville. 
You can be sure it was the nine days’ wonder 
of the neighborhood. With the jaws propped 
open to show the enormous teeth, for it was a 
male specimen, and with the tail high in the 
air, it looked almost as natural as life, and a 
hundred times more ugly. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


57 


“Horses and even mules shied at it as they 
were driven past ; dogs barked at it and tried to 
climb upon the shed. Children on their way to 
school would not go by it unless accompanied by 
grown persons. As a result the little folks for- 
sook the highroad and made a path along Penn ’s 
Creek, but even there they complained of being 
scared by the playfulness of fish-otters. 

“But one unfortunate feature of the case was 
that the dead panther had a mate. These ani- 
mals are very devoted to one another, and if one 
is killed, the survivor rarely ever mates again. 
The female in this instance kept coming to the 
edge of the dense brush at the rear of old Jake’s 
garden, andhowling pitifuly on moonlight nights. 
Doubtless she was disturbed by the distorted 
effigy of her late lord and master so immovable 
on the ridge-pole. Some of the more timid 
neighbors when they met Jake at church urged 
him to take the carcass down. ‘It keeps the 
mate in the neighborhood, and our women and 
children can’t have any peace at nights.’ But 
Jake would only shake his hairy head and grin. 
‘I’m going to get that mate some day, I’m only 
waiting for her to get real bold and show her- 


58 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


self, then there will be two stuffed panthers on 
the roof of my woodshed. ’ 

“He had killed the male about the first week 
in April, but summer was now on the wane, and 
he hadn’t gotten a shot at the mate. A number 
of the boys who lived on adjoining farms were 
hoping she might elude him. If she did, they 
planned a big hunt with dogs, as soon as harvest- 
ing was over. As it was, the dogs, whenever they 
were loosed, would take up the panther’s scent, 
and make the nights horrible with their yelping. 
This was another reason why old Jake was 
urged to dispense with his stuffed panther. But 
the old man was obdurate, he was going to clean 
out the whole panther tribe, if given his way. 

“In August there was camp-meeting in 
Emerick’s Woods, near New Berlin, and 
the number of rigs and travelers on horse- 
back who passed the stuffed panther was well 
up in the hundreds. All stopped to look 
at it, for many of the younger people had 
never seen a panther, they were getting scarce 
outside the Seven Mountains. The night of the 
second Sunday of 'camp,’ old Jake and his boys 
went off in their carryall, leaving his wife and 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


59 


their crippled daughter to mind the house. The 
old lady wasn ’t afraid ; she said she could shoot 
straighter than her husband any time. It was 
a weird sort of night. Across the face of the full 
moon flew clouds shaped like panthers with long 
tails. There were awful gusts of wind, which 
rattled the loose palings on the front yard fence, 
and sent the gate swinging to and fro. Bits of 
the garden, and the orchard, and the creek were 
bathed in a peculiar silvery light, other places it 
was impenetrably dark. 

“ ‘It is the kind of night we always saw the 
ghost of the Indian chief at the spring, when I 
was a girl,’ the old woman was telling her 
crippled daughter. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Don ’t tell me that, mother, it frightens me, ’ 
said the girl, who was lying on a black hair-cloth 
lounge, and she pulled the patchwork quilt over 
her head. 

“ ‘Don’t be foolish,’ said her mother, ‘ghosts 
are as much a part of this life as our daily meals, 
we cannot reckon without them. ’ 

“ ‘But I don’t like to hear about ghosts,’ re- 
plied the girl, ‘I’ve always felt sort of uneasy 


60 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


ever since daddy set up that ugly stuffed panther 
on the woodshed. ’ 

“ ‘My lands, girl,’ said the mother, ‘that’s 
what I call an ornament. There never were any 
folks stopped to admire our premises until your 
father put that critter up there! They never 
noticed our hollyhocks and judas-bushes. 

As she was talking, the patter of dogs’ feet 
was heard on the kitchen porch. On the con- 
clusion of her speech, she opened the door. Out- 
side she found six huge hounds running about 
wagging their heavy tails. Two were her hus- 
band’s, which he had liberated before leaving 
for campmeeting, and four strangers. ‘Shoo, 
there,’ she shouted to them, striking at them 
with a broom handle. The animals ran off the 
porch, and across the yard, where they began 
barking at the stuffed panther on the woodshed. 
The old woman looked out the kitchen window, 
and watched them as they leaped wildly against 
the sides of the shed, in their efforts to get at 
the uncanny monster. Her eyes rested on the 
panther itself, and she recoiled in horror. 

‘ ‘ ‘ What ails you mother ? I thought you never 
got afraid,’ said the crippled girl sarcastically. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


61 


“ ‘I never do, but I didn’t like the way that 
panther looked. That queer moonlight we have 
to-night was shining in his eye-sockets, giving 
him an expression that would have scared the 
devil himself.’ While she spoke the yelping of 
the hounds became fiercer than ever, it seemed as 
if they would demolish the shed in their fury. 

“ ‘No wonder the neighbors complain they 
can’t sleep,’ broke in the girl again, ‘between 
that she panther in the brush and the infernal 
carrying-on of the hounds, they might as well 
cut up their beds for kindling. ’ 

“ ‘ I guess if we can sleep through it, they 
can too, ’ said the old woman as she sank into her 
rocking chair by the window. The scene ap- 
parently had a fascination for her that she could 
not resist. For several moments she watched the 
frantic, howling dogs, without uttering a word. 
Then, as the noise increased, she gave forth a 
piercing scream, ran to the door, and turned 
the key in the lock. Peering out the window 
again, she called to her daughter, ‘The hounds 
are up on the roof, they are pulling down the 
panther! My but your father will lick them 
when he gets back.’ The poor crippled girl 


62 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


could stand the excitement no longer. For- 
getting her fear and disabilities, she dragged 
herself to the window, holding on to her mother 
with a vice-like grip. Just as she reached the 
window, she saw panther and dogs come rolling 
off the shed-roof into the yard. In an instant the 
angry brutes were on top of the carcass, intent 
on tearing it to pieces. 

“In the midst of their fury, something that 
seemed like a shadow cast by one of the long, 
panther-like clouds which sailed across the moon, 
swept across the smooth-kept yard from the gar- 
den fence. It was no shadow, it was the drab form 
of the stuffed panther ’s mate. Taking the hounds 
completely off their guard, she plunged in among 
them, throwing them right and left. Yells of 
anger were succeeded by miserable, treble catter- 
wauls of pain. Torn, bleeding, and helpless, 
the dogs lay about like sheep at a barbecue. 
With the last enemy dispatched, the pantheress 
sprang lightly to the side of the stuffed effigy of 
her mate. Pausing, she turned her uplifted 
head, and ground her teeth in defiance at the 
terror-stricken women in the cottage window. 
A narrow streak of moonlight fell on her at that 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


63 


moment, setting out in bold relief the slim, lithe 
lines of her form. She began licking the eyeless 
sockets of the effigy, crying softly. She rolled 
it over from side to side, sometimes standing 
it on four feet, where it looked ready to take on 
life and speed with her to the pine forests. Sud- 
denly she emitted a piercing yell, and fixing her 
fangs tightly in the nape of the neck of the car- 
cass she started to drag it across the yard. 
When she reached the garden fence she had con- 
siderable difficulty lifting it over, every muscle 
and sinew of her frame twitching with nervous 
anxiety. 

“Why the women remained at the window 
during all these gruesome transactions they could 
not tell themselves. It was a sight that try as 
they might, they would never be able to forget. 

“It was just as the devoted pantheress, with 
her ghastly burden was disappearing across the 
palings on the far side of the garden that rifle 
in hand I appeared on the scene. At that time 
I was living about half a mile up the road from 
the Sansom farm, nearer Centreville. My wife 
wasn’t feelig well, so I hadn’t gone to camp- 
meeting that night. I had gone to bed early, but 


64 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


could not sleep for the hellish yelping of the 
hounds. It got so loud, and kept up so long that 
I came to the conclusion that the female panther 
was abroad, and I meant to put a stop to her ca- 
reer if possible. I was on the highroad already 
when I heard the panther ess let out that awful 
yell, but hurrying my utmost, I reached the spot 
too late. I pushed through the gate, and across 
the yard, only to see the heap of dying hounds 
on the grass near the woodshed. Mammy San- 
som saw me coming, and ran out in the yard to 
meet me. She told the story as well as she could, 
but I could see she was half dead with terror. 
We inspected the dogs, perceiving that every one 
was fatally torn. A couple died as we were ex- 
amining them, and I put the remainder out of 
their misery with the butt end of by rifle. I 
turned to Mammy Sansom saying, ‘I believe I 
can get that pantheress to-night/ 

“I had purposely left my dogs at home, they 
were only little rabbit hounds, as I didn’t want 
them to get mixed up in the melee. As I was 
going out the front gate, on my way home after 
them, I heard the sound of an approaching 
wagon. I waited a few minutes and was reward- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


65 


ed hy the appearance of old Sansom and his boys. 
Quickly as I could I explained what had hap- 
pened. They ran into the yard, to where the 
dead hounds were lying, while I jumped into the 
carryall and drove up the road. I put my little 
dogs on leash, and threw them into the wagon. 
When I returned to Sansom ’s house, I found 
the old man and the boys waiting for me with 
their rifles. I put the dogs on the scent, and 
soon there was a lively tongueing. 

“The trail led us through the garden, across 
a pasture lot, and into the brushwood which 
stretched for half a mile to the beginning of the 
vast pine forest that covered the slopes of Jack’s 
Mountains. At the edge of the original pines 
was a spring. For some reason it had always 
been called the ‘panther spring,’ now it was to 
become doubly entitled to the name. The moon, 
which had been temporarily obscured by long, 
slim clouds, like panthers, suddenly shed its rays 
upon the spring. What had seemed to us like a 
couple of old rotting, moss covered logs, turned 
out to be two huge crouching panthers, drinking. 
The smaller of the two raised its head at our 
approach, looked around, grinding its teeth at 


66 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


us. Then it quickly caught the other animal by 
the nape of the neck. When the larger brute 
wheeled, we noticed it had very imperfect eyes. 
We recognized it as the animated form of the 
stuffed carcass which for six months had orna- 
mented the ridge-pole of old Jake’s woodshed. 

I have heard of ‘buck-fever’ hundreds of 
times, but I had never experienced it myself un- 
til I saw those two devilish panthers. I could 
not raise my rifle to my shoulder. My dogs, 
usually eager to attack anything big or little, 
cowered at my feet, shivering and shaking. Jake 
and his boys were rigid with fright. We stood 
there in the moonlight, as if transfixed by a spell. 
I who had faced death at Malvern Hill and 
Chancellorsville allowed the two brutes to get 
away from me, without turning a finger to pre- 
vent. The weak-eyed panther moved more slowly 
than his mate, he was evidently being re-ani- 
mated gradually. With any amount of sense, 
we could have shot them both, but it wasn’t to 
be. When they were safely out of reach we 
‘woke up.’ 

“All three of us commenced swearing at our- 
selves. Once I thought I ’d whip my dogs, but I 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


67 


figured out if a thinking, reasoning human being 
like myself hadn’t backbone enough to shoot, how 
could a pair of little rabbit hounds he expected to 
begin the attack. Sheepishly we all turned about 
and returned to our homes. It was the most un- 
satisfactory, cowardly night of our lives. After 
that experience we never discussed the subject, 
let alone went on another panther hunt. 

“The story of the panther being torn off the 
shed roof, and the mate coming to its rescue and 
killing the hounds became widespread, but our 
part of the adventure we ‘kept dark.’ Many 
of the neighbors complained about two panthers 
being heard in the brush at night, when the moon 
was full, for they always wailed most mourn- 
fully when the silver orb was at its zenith. ‘ That 
cursed panther of Jake Sansom’s has brought 
two around to avenge it, instead of one,’ was 
their common talk. But Jake, his boys and my- 
self knew that the second panther was none 
other than the revivified form of the stuffed 
effigy from the woodshed.” 


KILLY, KILLY, KILLY. 
(Story of Peter’s Mountain.) 


IGH up among the crags of 
Peter’s Mountain, crags as 
vivid and pink in color as his 
breast, circled the sparrow 
hawk, shrilly calling “Killy, 
killy, killy, ’ ’ that cloudless 
autumn morning. As he flew 
hither and thither uttering 
his mournful cries, the clear 
blue of his wings seemed a part of the sun en- 
amelled sky. 

Suddenly dropping into a field, close to the 
foot of the gigantic mountain, he began his day ’s 
task of ridding the arable soil of animal and in- 
sect pests. Never molesting a game bird, or a 
song bird, and disdaining poultry or pigeons, he 
seemed a model of propriety, the product of a 
long line of righteous ancestors, incapable of 
68 



SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


69 


sin since the Unseen Power pressed them from 
a block of the blue ether. 

But in reality the sparow hawk is the de- 
scendant of an arch-criminal and his virtuous 
and industrious deeds are in the nature of ex- 
piation, atonement. He seems so happy in his 
life of doing good, that it might be best to leave 
unexplained the sad story of his ancestry. In- 
telligent to a degree, he is said like Horus, the 
hawk-god of the Egyptians, to be of human 
origin. 

The story is a sad one, and dates to that period 
of the world before exact species were fully de- 
termined upon, when the Gods and even some 
men possessed the power to turn one creature 
into another. To-day some of us through evil 
influences take on the nature of beasts, but not 
the outward forms to any great extent; but in 
those days body and spirit could be changed 
without a moment’s warning. 

It was not long after the period when there 
were monsters, and giants, and dragons, when 
mountains were in the building, and trees and 
flowers changed color over night. Unhappy was 
he who received a heavy sentence in those days, 


70 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


for Nature was settling into an unalterable 
state, from which prayer, and penance, and rigid 
life could constitute no appeal from the fiat. 

Among those in closest harmony with the eter- 
nal powers, was a young redman named Keow. 
He was wise beyond his years and generation, 
and as such was revered by all who knew him. 
Constant thought had probably retarded his 
physical development, as he was several inches 
shorter than the average of his race. His head 
was large, with a broad expansive brow which 
overhung his deepset, dark grey eyes. His nose 
was sharp, and inclined to the aquiline, his lips 
full but always held tightly compressed. Ac- 
cording to the standards already set up by the 
women of his time, he was not considered good 
looking. The fair sex preferred men closer ad- 
hering to the type of the race; they must be 
taller in the first place, their heads less strongly 
marked and not so “ characteristic. ’ ’ 

Keow, with all his worldly wisdom, became 
aware of these points of differentiation about 
the time when he first craved the society of the 
opposite sex. He instinctively felt that he was 
not favored as were other young men of his age ; 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


71 


perhaps he was clumsy or tactless in manner, 
perhaps worse. He looked at his reflected image 
in pools, critically, carefully. The story was 
revealed there ; his countenance was not of the 
conventional type, and Nature dearly loves to 
perpetuate a type and not a lot of diverse in- 
dividuals. This sense of difference made him 
shy and taciturn. 

He admired women as much as before, but 
mostly from a distance. There were many he 
saw whom he might have loved, might possibly 
have made supremely happy, but he shrank from 
them, especially after the faintest sign of indif- 
ference. His physical desires and artistic na- 
ture, even though he was a savage, made him 
hunger for the company of women even more 
than any who conformed to the type of the race. 
There was always a burning longing in his soul, 
that no material triumphs might quench. 

As a warrior he soon won renown, in the 
chase he was unequalled, in divination and heal- 
ing he was the leader of his day. And yet the 
pain in his heart found no surcease. 

There was a pestilence raging among the 
tribes who wintered about the foot of Peter’s 


72 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


Mountain. Keow, whose home was far off 
among the headwaters of the Susquehanna, was 
sent for, and responded cheerfully. Over the 
snow and ice he came on primitive snow-shoes 
made of beech hark. It was an easy task for him 
to cure the disease; had he been sent for sooner 
there need not have been any deaths. As it was 
he cured all the survivors, and changed whole- 
sale mourning into rejoicing. Keow was mod- 
est, and liked no demonstrations for what he 
considered a simple duty. 

The grateful Indians wished to banquet him, 
and even hold animal drives in his honor, but 
he firmly declined all such suggestions. 

There was only one reward he would liked to 
have had, and that could have been his for the 
asking. This reward was the noble maiden Killy, 
daughter of the chieftain Wulitehasu. If he 
had intimated his wish the maiden would have 
been his, but the wise man preferred to secure 
her love before desiring to possess her. He na- 
turally became acquainted with her, and she 
seemed to delight in his society. She praised 
the great work he had done, and asked many 
questions concerning his past life, his aspira- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


73 


tions, his ideals. She seemed to recognize in him 
a superior soul. She accompanied him on sev- 
eral strolls in the forest, and when he went out 
on days when the snow was crusted to slay the 
moose and elk. She was a beautiful picture, on 
her snow shoes, this princess of the primitive 
redmen. Hers was a slight, supple form, with 
all the straight lines and willowy grace that 
comes at eighteen. Her hair was inclined to 
curl, her grey eyes were full and sincere, her 
cheek-bones accentuated the broadness of her 
face. The nose was not too large, hut it was in 
perfect proportion with the broadness of her 
cheeks. 

Never, thought Keow, had the unseen powers 
devised such a perfect being. If only by some 
chance she might take a deep liking to him ! On 
one occasion in the depths of the forest she had 
allowed him to hold her in his arms; she had 
coyly nodded her head when he asked her if she 
cared for him. He dared not ask her if she 
loved him, he was too self-deprecatory for that. 

That night, around the camp-fire, his tempo- 
rary elation was chilled. There was a young 
Indian, tall and slim, of the conventional type 


74 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


named Pawallessit, one of the many who had 
been cured of the plague. He had not regained 
his strength and sat moodily before the fire. 
Killy had come and seated herself beside him, 
and was striving to entertain him, when Keow, 
after a final visit to his most backward patients, 
emerged into the fire-lit circle. From a respect- 
ful distance he eyed the pair, the girl displaying 
genuine interest, the convalescent passively in- 
terested. Keow hung his head, and leaned 
against a tree. 

Back of the rest of the throng about the fire 
sat an old squaw named Nepe. Formerly she 
had been the doetoress of the tribe, but her fail- 
ure to cope with the deadly pestilence had caused 
her to fall into disgrace. She had been rudely 
crowded away from the fire by many persons 
much younger than herself, but she made no 
complaint. She had noticed Keow when he 
came out of the forest, how he quailed when he 
saw the beautiful Killy entertaining the young 
convalescent. Despite the fact that the young 
doctor had supplanted her, she felt for him as 
one kindred big soul always does for another. 
She dragged herself to her feet and hobbled over 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


75 


to the tree where Keow was leaning. He bowed 
respectfully as she approached, which was more 
than most young redmen would do. “Brother 
wise man/’ she whispered, “I divine that you 
feel sad because somebody apparently shows in- 
terest in another. Mind it not, it is only her 
womanly sympathy towards an afflicted being.” 

Keow shook his head. “Mother wise woman,” 
he answered, 1 1 1 lack your years and experience, 
but something within the springs of my spirit 
tells me that all is not well, that she is fond of 
that sick man.” 

In her heart old Nepe knew that he was cor- 
rect, and turned away without attempting to ar- 
gue the question. 

Keow cast a few more wistful glances at the 
young couple by the fireside, and then slunk 
back into the blackness of the forest, to his cold 
bed under a lean-to of hemlock boughs. He lay 
awake and tossed and shivered all night. He, 
who could literally bring folks back from the 
grave was powerless to alleviate the sickness of 
his own soul. The next morning he met Killy; 
she was just as fascinating, just as winsome as 
ever; there were no signs from her that there 


76 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


was anyone else in her life except the young 
wise man. She remarked that he was unusually 
quiet. ‘ 1 That is because my work ended, I must 
return to my home among the headwaters. ’ ’ 

Killy urged him to remain longer, but if not, 
to return in the Spring. 

“I will be back when the redbud is in blos- 
som, if you will be true to me.” 

‘ ‘ I will be true to you, ’ ’ said Killy deliberate- 
ly, looking at him squarely with her full grey 
eyes. He took her two plump hands in his, he 
reached over, they were soon in the elysium of 
a prolonged kiss. Yet amid the rapture of that 
kiss he felt the presence of Pawallessit, the con- 
valescent. It made him feel sick to his stomach, 
else he could have continued the kiss longer. 

Killy divining the continued sadness in his 
face, repeated voluntarily, “Rest assured I will 
be true to you.” 

“But do you really love me, Killy?” he en- 
treated. 

“I do, I do,” she protested, and buried her 
curly head on his breast. 

Were his fears of the night before unfounded? 
It surely looked that way. But at the same time 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


77 


his instinct had never been incorrect in the past, 
was he to have proof of fallibility now? His 
homeward journey was tedious and unhappy. 
There were thaws which made him discard his 
beech-bark shoes, and heavy, disheartening rains. 
When he reached the home encampment, in the 
mountains of what is now Clearfield County, he 
was sick at heart, morose, disgruntled. 

He had a close friend, young Netami, who 
while not a wise man, had apperceptive powers. 
The youth questioned Keow about his apparent 
sorrow, at a time when he should be all elation 
at his wonderful cure of the plague victims at 
Peter’s Mountain. Keow confided to him the 
story of his great love for Killy, of his doubts 
and fears. Netami put his arms around him 
saying, “Be brave, good friend, at this very mo- 
ment she is eating her heart out for you.” 

Keow shook his head, just as he had to the old 
wise woman Nepe, when she tried to console him. 
It was a prehistoric version of the doubts and 
fears of the young Bonaparte in Egypt concern- 
ing his beloved Josephine back in France. A 
wise man is a barometer as to love, he can force 


78 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


himself to have faith outwardly, but the spirit 
never wrong, is in open rebellion. 

‘ ‘ No, she is not true to me, ’ ’ said Keow sadly, 
“I know I failed to impress her as much as 
Pawallessit, the convalescent, for he was closer 
to the type of the race.” 

“Your distinctions are too fine,” interposed 
Netami, “men of individuality win a deeper and 
more lasting love than the commoner sort.” 
This Keow knew was correct, but the man of 
marked personality can only be appreciated by 
a woman of equal individuality, and this Killy 
was not, though he would not admit it. 

‘ ‘ She is untrue to me ; with all my boundless 
love I have failed ; what good is it to try to excel 
in life when the appreciation of the one most 
desired is denied.” 

Netami concluded that the strain of treating 
so many sick persons had unnerved the young 
wise man ; a little rest and he would look on life 
with a fresh eye. During the remaining months 
of winter, despite his intuitive misgivings, Keow 
still cherished the hope of returning to the Pe- 
ter’s Mountain country, and making the fair 
Killy his wife. He might have urged the cere- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


79 


mony to have occurred before he left for home, 
but he wanted her to have plenty of time to 
consider the matter; his love was too unselfish 
to be successful in this material world. His soul 
was continually telling him that something was 
amiss; this strengthened his reserve force for 
the final catastrophe. 

At length when the condition of the twigs in- 
dicated that by the time he got into the vicinity 
of Peter’s Mountain, the scarlet tints of the 
redbud would be apparent in the bare, bleak 
woodlands, Keow started on his love quest. 

After several days’ travel he camped near the 
mouth of the Scootac to lay in a stock of fresh 
meat. Elks were abundant, a few choice saddles 
of their delicious meat might not be out of place 
in his canoe. When returning from his first 
day’s hunt, which had been successful, he was 
accosted by an Indian whose face seemed fa- 
miliar. “I am named Eemhoanis,” said the 
stranger, “one of the grateful warriors whom 
you cured of plague. ’ ’ Keow shook him warmly 
by the hand, and bade him take half of his pack 
of elk meat. 


80 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


“I am out on a hunt myself/’ continued the 
stranger, “to revive myself after all the excite- 
ment and feasting incidental to the grand mar- 
riage of our princess Killy to Pawallessit. ’ ’ 

Keow, on hearing this, gave way to a severe 
chill, his teeth chattered, his knees knocked to- 
gether in nervous excitement. “A fine state of 
affairs while the redbud is getting ready to 
blossom,” he muttered under his breath. He 
gave most of his provisions to Eemhoanis, with 
reckless generosity, and next morning resumed 
his journey down the river. 

Near the Peter’s Mountain settlements he ran 
across several Indians whom he knew, and from 
them learned the details of the duplicitous mar- 
riage. He was told that the newly- wedded pair 
were living in a commodious lodge-house at the 
base of the mountain, not far from the river. 
When he came to within a mile of this abode, 
he moored his canoe to the roots of a giant red- 
birch, and started to pay a visit to the pair. He 
was unarmed, but with his unbounded courage 
could have faced Machtando the Evil One him- 
self. Perhaps some charm or incantation was 
leading him along a preconceived course. 





a 

o 

* 

cn 


>> 

M 

O 

O 

JZ 

n _ 


PETER’S STEPS,” LOCKPORT, PENN’A 




SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


81 


It was at the base of the big mountain that 
he suddenly came face to face with Pawallessit. 
The bridegroom’s countenance glowed with an 
evil show of triumph when he saw Keow; evi- 
dently Killy, with a woman’s boastfulness, had 
told the entire story of the wise man’s love. 
Keow eyed him savagely, and raised his hands, 
with the fingers widespread above his head, mak- 
ing several passes in imitation of a bird flying. 
As he did so Pawallessit ’s face took on the visage 
of a bird, the skull sloped back, the nose grew 
sharper; the arms took on pinions, his whole 
back sprouted dark blue feathers, his breast a 
salmon pink down. His feet became claws, a 
great forked tail of stiff brown feathers devel- 
oped. The transformation came so quickly, he 
seemed unable to grasp its meaning at first. It 
was only when he began to reduce in size, it was 
probably the shrivelling of his evil soul that 
pained him, he uttered a series of piercing cries 
of “Killy, Killy, Killy.” With the last he rose 
up in the air, with a wheeling, unsteady flight 
which seemed involuntary. High in the air he 
repeated his plaintive shrieks of “Killy, Killy, 
Killy.” 


82 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


Keow laughed with satisfaction when he saw 
that his revenge was accomplished. As he 
laughed, far up among the dizzy heights of the 
mountain came the echoes of “ Killy, Killy, 
Killy.” Then the young wise man continued 
his walk to the bridal lodge-house. Killy was 
at home when he appeared, cooking supper on 
an open hearth, outside the hut. She jumped 
up quickly when she saw her old lover ; some in- 
stinct told her trouble was nigh. “Where’s Pa- 
wallessit, what have you done to him?” she 
shrieked. 

Keow stood before her, silent, with arms fold- 
ed, a little god of retribution. Above their 
heads, out of the silence came the weird cries 
of “Killy, Killy, Killy.” The affrighted bride 
cast her eyes upwards, high in the blue dome 
circled a strange bird, with unsteady, ill-bal- 
anced flight. “I guess that is Pawallessit up 
there who is calling you,” said Keow, grinding 
his teeth with cruel emphasis. “Killy, Killy, 
Killy,” drifted the cries; this time nearer, the 
bird showed up more distinctly. 

Killy looked at it more carefully; she seemed 
to identify it positively, for she dropped her 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


83 


earthen pot, and started to run pell mell for the 
river. “My lover, my lover, my Pawallessit, ’ ’ 
she wailed. She tripped several times on the 
wild grapevines, but Keow, close at her heels, 
stood her on her feet after each fall. Yet he 
did not attempt to impede her course. At the 
brink of the water, she ran out on the roots of 
a big over-hanging red-birch ; it happened to be 
the one to which Keow’s canoe was moored. 
Headlong she plunged into the deep current, 
disappeared, then rose to the surface. Already 
the wise man was in his canoe, and with strong 
arms dragged her limp, unconscious body into 
the craft. Then he quickly paddled into mid- 
stream, and started, with his frail burden, for 
the east. Aloft in the sky, a blue bird with a 
pink breast, was tumbling about on wings that 
did not seem to suit, crying out in treble fury, 
“Killy, Killy, Killy.” 


Y. 


ELEYE. 

(Story of Old Jersey Shore.) 

LEYE could not win at Gut- 
tenberg, though Lemon Shaa- 
ber worked harder over him 
than any horse he had ever 
trained. The best he was able 
to do was finish second twice 
to Inferno, owned by a fellow 
Berks Countian, Billy Stuff- 
let. In the early spring Le- 
mon moved Eleve to Gloucester, where there was 
less class to the fields. On one occasion the old 
horse ran third to Marty B., but thereafter al- 
ways finished in the ruck. When the county 
fair circuit opened in Pennsylvania he decided 
to pocket his pride and try for smaller honors. 
He had the utmost faith in his horse, as he al- 
ways ran true, and never sulked or acted badly 
at the post. 

84 



SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


85 


In his day Eleve was considered a handicap 
horse, when he was owned by a New York mil- 
lionaire of international repute. But when he 
ceased to be a bread-winner, he was ruthlessly 
consigned to a weeding-out sale in the paddock 
at Morris Park, where Lemon Shaaber laid out 
his last dollar to get him. He had backed him 
place both times when he finished second to In- 
ferno, which paid the oats bill, and the shipping 
charges to Gloucester. The move to the fair 
circuit was most fortuitous; it opened with a 
victory at Kutztown, over Fleetwood Boy, and 
continued in an unbroken sequence of an even 
dozen wins at half as many tracks. 

Not a defeat marred the old campaigner’s 
season, and in bets and purses his owner gath- 
ered in a goodly store. After his fifth or sixth 
victory, Eleve began to be noticed by the crowd, 
which made him prick up his ears, to take on a 
few peculiarities, as became a champion. He 
was a horse of striking individuality, which was 
accentuated by his being entire. To look at him 
it was no wonder that when he sold for five 
thousand dollars as a yearling, Billy Easton, the 
auctioneer at Tattersall’s predicted that he had a 


86 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


brilliant career before him, remarking from the 
box ‘‘He has size and substance, and above all, 
that sure sign of a good and game racehorse, a 
Roman nose. ,, 

As an aged horse he stood sixteen-one hands, 
heavily boned, and high-shouldered, with a pon- 
derous head like a camel. His rough coat, in 
color between a dark chestnut and a bay, further 
gave the impression of a “ship of the desert / ’ 
He was bang-tailed, according to the custom of 
the day, and always ran with his mane and fore- 
top tied up in ribbons. 

At the close of the season, a Lancaster hotel- 
keeper offered Lemon a thousand dollars cash 
for him, it is said. But the shrewd Berks Coun- 
tian replied in the slang of that time, “not for 
a mint, no sir-ee. ” There were some who sug- 
gested that Lemon try another winter at Gutten- 
berg, that Eleve’s form had improved; it was 
that and not the inferior fields which caused his 
successes on the fair circuit. Lemon didn't 
seem sure of this either, but wisely refrained 
from the lure of Guttenberg. 

The old horse, his victories, his owner, created 
much talk in the country and even in the Phila- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


87 


delphia papers. This was in the good old days, 
over twenty years ago, when the horse was king, 
before he had to divide attention first with the 
bicycle, and later with the automobile. 

Lemon Shaaber used to be in the milk busi- 
ness, so he turned the horse over to his former 
partner, who still maintained the route, and who 
was his neighbor in old Shillington. 

Whether the horse had ever been put in har- 
ness before wasn’t definitely known, but at any 
rate he took to his task like the proverbial duck 
to water. Above all, he would stand without 
hitching, even for an hour at a stretch, while his 
driver sat and warmed his hands before the stove 
and gossiped with some pretty housewife in her 
kitchen. In the spring he was put back into 
training, his muscles like iron, his courage and 
speed not having deteriorated like they would 
have if he had spent the winter ruminating in a 
box-stall. 

During the previous season he had met only 
one real antagonist on the fair circuit. This an- 
imal was named Iceberg, but his name was al- 
ways spelled on the programs “Iceburg.” Like 
Eleve, he was an aged entire horse, and a former 


88 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


ornament of the Guttenberg merry-go-round. 
Iceberg was a big, fine looking horse, a very dark 
or mahogany bay, with two white hind feet. He 
was not as well bred an animal as Eleve, but 
he was more beautifully turned. Six times he 
finished second to Lemon Shaaber’s horse at the 
county fair races, hut he could not get his nose 
in front, trying might and main. 

Eleve made the first start of his second season 
on the “little” tracks at Point Breeze, on Me- 
morial Day. Iceberg was in the field of nine 
that opposed him. It was a half mile and repeat 
affair, the general form of running races those 
days. In both heats Eleve made a show of his 
field, except Iceberg, although he beat his old- 
time rival handily each brush by a length. This 
try-out stamped the last year’s champion as in- 
vincible for the races to come. 

Every four or five years such a horse appears 
out of the “nowhere” on the county fair tracks, 
sweeping everything, until he is raced to death. 

But Lemon Shaaber was too shrewd a horse- 
man to kill his bread-winner; his policy was to 
race him fewer times, and keep him on the turf 
longer. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


89 


There was an early race meet at Lancaster, 
some time in June, where Eleve won both run- 
ning races in a gallop. He was in the Susque- 
hanna country, at the mid-summer fair at Mil- 
ton, on July 4th and 5th, and cleaned up a score 
of antagonists in two races, showing his heels 
twice to his persistent competitor, Iceberg. Af- 
ter this the fairs commenced in earnest, and 
there was a chance to race every week, if so de- 
sired. Eleve swept through the circuit with a 
chain of unbroken successes. His triumphal 
course, instead of scaring away opponents, 
brought them from every conceivable nook and 
corner. There were New England cracks, New 
York cracks, Western and Southern cracks. 
Fields of such size were never known before on 
the circuit. There was so much horse talk in 
those days that it is hard to say if Eleve ’s vic- 
tories created the banner year of the county 
fairs, but for some reason the gate receipts were 
tremendous. 

With each easy win the old horse became surer 
of himself, his idiosyncracies aggrandized. 

Chief among these was his hatred of unsexed 
horses. When he was lined up at the starting 


90 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


post between two entires, or two mares, he was 
as docile as a house-cat, but if between two geld- 
ings, or even to be near one gelding, was the 
signal for him to begin an outbreak of biting, 
kicking and rearing. Several times geldings 
were bumped into him at the start, in the hopes 
he would forget his paces, and break behind the 
bunch, but he was too old a bird to be caught by 
such a handful of chaff. He had one eye for 
his antipathies, another eye for a quick start. 
As he never lost a stride at the post, Lemon 
Shaaber rather indulged his likes than inter- 
fered with them. Since he had come on the fair 
circuit no horse had defeated him; by the last 
week in September he had won his twelfth race 
of his second season. This made a total of 
twenty-four wins out of a like number of starts 
in two years. He had run twenty times during 
the fall and winter previous to joining the fairs, 
being twice on two occasions, and once third. 

His thirteenth start of the second season was 
to be made at the picturesque old course at Jer- 
sey Shore, which overlooked the “dreamy Sus- 
quehanna’ J and the “sleeping panther moun- 
tain ’ ’ over by Antes Gap. It was the most char- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


91 


aeteristic, old fashioned fair on the entire cir- 
cuit; it maintained its delicious flavor of a sim- 
pler and happier day to the last. In fact the 
fair where Eleve figured was the last ever held 
on the historic grounds. Racing had been held 
there almost uninterruptedly, even through the 
days early in the nineteenth century, when anti- 
racing associations were formed all through 
Central Pennsylvania. To those who have seen 
the old engraving of the course, with a swarm 
of trotters and runners in full cry swinging 
around the track, further explanation is unnec- 
essary. It had been the abode of clean, health- 
ful sport for two-thirds of a century, the inspira- 
tion to thousands of growing boys and girls. 
With grand old trees, its river view, its moun- 
tains in the distance, the richly cultivated hills 
behind, it was one of nature's paradises. In ad- 
dition to the annual autumn fairs, political and 
patriotic meetings were held there, as well as 
barbecues and reunions. 

Once a “tame" buffalo, which had become too 
vicious to suit his owner, who shipped him east 
from Kansas, a shivering little calf several years 
before, was slaughtered and roasted to the edifi- 


92 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


cation of a concourse of Democrats. There had 
been thrilling balloon ascensions, parachute ex- 
hibitions, shooting matches, coursing meets, ev- 
ery kind of amusement conceivable, at the old 
track. It was an early home of running racing, 
many of the old-time long distance races having 
ended by the horses going once around the 
course before finishing. 

And here was to be the scene of another of 
Eleve’s performances. Entries came in thick 
and fast, when it was given out he was to be on 
hand. There was a very showy gelding named 
Robert E. Lee, racing on the Southern chain of 
fairs which included Winchester, Frederick, Ha- 
gerstown, York and Bedford. He had won sev- 
enteen consecutive victories, principally in Vir- 
ginia, that season. His greatest achievement had 
been his beating in straight heats, on July 4th 
of that year, the famous Neptune, afterwards 
bought for ten thousand dollars by Mr. Jack 
Barnard, of Long Island. It is claimed that 
twelve to fifteen thousand people witnessed that 
race, and there was a howl of disgust when the 
popular idol went down to defeat. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


93 


Robert E. Lee’s owners, Kline and Gilroy, 
were gradually working him North, hut the dates 
did not suit for him to encounter old Eleve until 
fair- week at Jersey Shore. Those who had seen 
the two horses were loathe to express an opin- 
ion of their respective merits. “They are so 
different” was the explanation most commonly 
heard. Robert E. Lee was a small animal, stand- 
ing little over fifteen hands, a blood bay. He 
was finely made, delicately coated. After a race 
his eyes became bloodshot, his veins stood out all 
over him like whipcord. Sensitive to a degree, 
it required great tact to handle him. Encouraged 
and patted, he would gladly do all that was ex- 
pected of him. He was a son of old Bothwell, 
who became famous as the actual sire of Mr. 
William C. Hayes’ great steeplechaser, The Rat, 
although in race programs he was given as by 
Wooster. 

A few years ago The Rat, at an advanced age, 
was shot, and fed to a pack of fox-hounds, on a 
farm near Warrenton, Virginia. Such are the 
tragedies of even the most industrious of race 
horses. 


94 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


In contrast to Robert E. Lee, Eleve was like 
some great ungainly camel. One succeeded by 
brute force and courage, the other by smartness 
and slickness. The heavy, ponderous Eleve could 
never be called smart or slick. The meeting of 
two horses with unbeaten records was the pre- 
vailing topic of conversation among the horse- 
men. “Robert E. Lee will win” said one man, 
“if Eleve doesn’t maul him to pieces at the 
post. ’ ’ 

“Too bad he’s a gelding,” said another sor- 
rowfully. But Robert E. Lee was quick and 
spry, there was no danger that Eleve could hurt 
him, even if he felt so disposed. 

It was all in the days of good sportmanship, 
when even Judges, bankers, priests and clergy- 
men owned race horses, before there was such a 
thing as “crooked” starts, or “fixed” races, so 
the contest would go down to history on its merits 
solely. The distance was the usual half mile and 
repeat. Mile and a quarter “dashes” were un- 
known. It is well they were, for nothing is 
worse than to see three or four patched up 
cripples crawling two or three times around a 
half mile track. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


95 


All the jockeys and stable boys in those days 
were negroes which added another picturesque 
feature to the sport. Now there are said to be 
more colored stable hands at Maisons Laffitte 
than at Pimlico. And colored jockeys are a thing 
of the past. Gone are “Pike” Barnes, “Monk” 
Overton, Perkins, Clayton, Hamilton, Simms! 
There was a love of glory which the modern 
turf does not possess. This was due to the 
prevalence of gentlemen owners ; when they 
withdrew their support, the bottom dropped out 
of the fair circuit, the sport was only preserved 
in the name. 

Lemon Shaaber, though a poor man, had im- 
bibed the prevailing spirit, and was a thorough 
sportsman. Likewise were the owners of Robert 
E. Lee. But an old farmer, with a long yellow 
chin-beard, who was discussing horse-racing 
outside the stables remarked, ‘ ‘ To my notion the 
only true sportsmen are those who race entire 
horses. If I was rich enough to afford a racing 
stable I’d want the genuine article in horses, no 
poor, weakly, unsexed things for me. ’ ’ 

One of the trainers nudged his companion, 
whispering, “Why old Jake McCloskey could 


96 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


buy the whole fairgrounds, and every horse on it, 
if he wanted.” Nowadays it is any kind of 
horse that can win by fair means or foul, the 
glory of the turf has had its sunset, in this 
country. 

There were so many visitors to the course, just 
to see the horses, that it seemed as if the crowd 
which assembled on the opening day of the fair 
could be no larger. It was a good old-fashioned 
fair, with plenty of big hogs and steers, and 
pumpkins, ears of corn, and apples, innocent side 
shows, good humor everywhere. There were no 
gambling games, no indecent catch-pennies, no 
rudeness, no disorder. It was typical of the 
country we live in “before the Gringo came.” 
The chief attraction was the races, harness and 
running events being given every day. 

Old Orange Chief was in his prime as a trot- 
ter, and when he won the 2 :25 trot the opening 
day, in straight heats, the crowd went wild with 
enthusiasm. The weather was perfect, clear and 
crisp, so enticing that farmers drove in from 
Nauvoo, White Pine, New Bergen, Loganton, 
Wolf’s Store, and Rebersburg, without their 
horses feeling the exertion. The trees on the 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


97 


mountain tops, and a few of the mapjes and gums 
in the lowlands near the track were already tint- 
ed red and orange, the autumn breezes swayed 
the woodbine which clustered about the pale, list- 
less elms. It was weather when folks were thank- 
ful to be alive, when all the world seemed kind, 
and full of joy. 

The first day’s running race a big field was 
won by old Creole, who afterwards spent his 
declining days between the shafts of a traveling 
market wagon. Neither Eleve, Robert E. Lee, or 
Iceberg started. They were kept in their boxes 
for the two hundred dollar purse which was 
“hung up” for the second day. 

There was a big crowd which overflowed from 
the grandstands on the lawns and infields to 
witness the “real” contest. Even a few In- 
dians from the North were present. The day was 
the finest of the season, Nature was continuing 
her wiles to make everybody happy. 

When the horses came out of their sta- 
bles, it was noticed that there were only three 
starters, Eleve, Robert E. Lee and Iceberg. The 
other five that had entered failed to appear. 
But they would have been superfluous. As they 


98 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


paraded to the post, Eleve marched very close 
to Robert E. Lee, hut did not make the slightest 
attempt to savage him. The old horse moved 
with majestic tread; several times he tossed his 
massive head at the applause of the spectators. 
‘‘There’s Eleve, there’s Eleve, there’s Eleve,” 
came in a rippling chorus all along the rail. The 
old champion felt another triumph would be his, 
he regarded his foes as beneath notice. 

Robert E. Lee was in fine form, carrying a 
trifle more flesh, he was less attenuated than 
usual. 

Iceberg, superb horse that he was, brought up 
the rear of the procession, on conformation he 
was the winner in this trio. Soon they lined up 
at the starting post, and the starters with their 
red flags ran about the track as animated as 
hull-fighters. The three horses stood as closely 
together as if harnessed to an invisible vehicle. 
Eleve made no move to molest Robert E. Lee, but 
stood motionless, with his fine head held high. It 
was an easy task for the starter. A flash of the 
flag, and the three animals were “off.” 

Robert E. Lee was quickest in motion, his 
jockey, a coal-black lad styled “Young Isaac 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


99 


Murphy,’ ’ being first to interpret the starter’s 
signal. Past the stand they raced, with the 
gelding’s nose showing in front. Shine, the black 
boy on Eleve, and Sailor, the rider of color on 
Iceberg, were playing their whips unnecessarily, 
it seemed. “Wait till they hit the back-stretch, 
we’ll make Robert E. Lee surrender” yelled an 
old soldier on the stand, who was evidently one 
of Eleve ’s partisans. Around the first turn they 
swept, with Robert E. Lee still having a shade 
the best of it. Those who had good eyes said that 
his nose was still in front all along the back- 
stretch. Rounding the far turn it looked as if 
Eleve was not to make a runaway race of it 
after all. Shine was keeping up his whipping 
tactics, but his mount was racing for everything 
that was in him. Iceberg lost ground at this 
turn, and open daylight separated him from his 
two competitors. Coming down the stretch 
there were terrific yells to Eleve and Shine to 
come on and win. The jockey plied his whip 
like a demon, but he could not gain the inch 
which differentiated him from Robert E. Lee. 
Nearer and nearer the wire they came, “Young 
Isaac Murphy” bending far over his horse’s 


100 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


neck, holding him straight, and whispering en- 
couragement in his ears. Shine, on Eleve, plied 
his whip so fast that the whalebone was lost in 
a yellow cloud. A hush fell over the crowd so 
intense that the bang, bang, bang of the hoof- 
beats, and the panting of the breaths sounded 
clear and distinct in the autumnal air. 

There was a wild look in Eleve 's big agate 
eyes, a terrific tension to chest and quarters, he 
was running the race of his life. The wire was 
reached, the pair rushed under it. From var- 
ious points of view it was difficult to tell which 
horse won, but the majority ruled, including the 
judges, that Robert E. Lee was victor. 

The momentum of the straining horses was so 
great that they could not be eased until after 
they had run an eighth of a mile further. By 
the time they returned to the judges' box, the 
names were hoisted, “Robert E. Lee, 1 ; Eleve, 2 ; 
Iceberg, 3; time, 50 seconds." There wasn't 
much applause when the winning jockey dis- 
mounted. A big crowd congregated about 
Eleve, to see if anything was wrong with him, 
to hear if his rider had any excuses to offer. He 
had none; “ Eleve 's nebber run a better race" 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


101 


he faltered, tears running down his dusky 
cheeks. 

The old horse seemed to take his defeat phil- 
osophically; he was led quietly back to his sta- 
ble to be cooled off, with the victor trotting a 
couple of lengths in front of him. He made no 
outbreak, maybe he thought that he had won. 
Three or four harness heats were contested be- 
fore the bugle blew to call out the runners for 
their next essay. “Eleve’s going to win this 
time ,, came the gossip from the stables, “he’s 
cooled out grand.” 

The sun was beginning to decline behind Mt. 
Pipsisseway, half hidden by its footstool of hills, 
and there was a decided chilliness to the at- 
mosphere. A boy who peddled a few early 
roasted chestnuts sold out in five minutes ; coffee 
and hot cakes were in great demand. The crowd 
was too cold to take any interest in the antics of 
Andy Waggoner, who was on hand to amuse 
young and old. Eliza Huntley was closing up 
her tintype tent for the night. But no one made 
a move to leave the track; they must see Eleve 
turn the tables on his Southern rival. 


102 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


The old horse moved splendidly; perhaps the 
first heat had merely limbered him up. Robert 
E. Lee looked thin and drawn, yet full of “go;” 
Iceberg, magnificent embodiment of horseflesh, 
cantered along like a king’s hunter in an old 
sporting print. At the post, the three horses be- 
haved admirably. Like in the first heat, they 
were off at the first drop of the flag. To the 
dismay of Eleve’s admirers, however, “Young 
Isaac Murphy” managed to get a shade the best 
of this start for Robert E. Lee. Shine, who had 
ridden Eleve in most of his races, could hardly 
be criticized, except on the ground that “Mur- 
phy” was a cleverer rider. But the advantage 
was so slight, it could be readily overcome. Past 
the stand they thundered, with Robert E. Lee’s 
nose in front. Around the turn they swung; 
Iceberg was running stronger this heat, and was 
even with his competitors. As they turned into 
the backstretch a mighty shout went up from the 
spectators, for Eleve, with a dynamic effort had 
forged to the front. There was open space be- 
tween him and Robert E. Lee and Iceberg, who 
were running abreast. Up to this time Shine had 
wisely refrained from using his whip; the old 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


103 


horse ran better on his own courage than when 
goaded. When the colored boy, looking over his 
shoulder, realized he was ahead, he forgot him- 
self in a delirious desire to win, and began beat- 
ing the old horse unmercifully. Despite this 
Eleve kept his lead until he turned into the 
homestretch, when Robert E. Lee and Iceberg 
crept upon him, and the three raced down the 
track, so close together that, to use a racing ex- 
pression, “a blanket would have covered them.” 
A hundred yards from the wire Robert E. Lee’s 
nose showed in front; “Young Isaac Murphy” 
kept it in front, and he flashed under the wire, 
a winner by a head. There was no cheering when 
the result “Robert E. Lee, 1; Eleve, 2; Iceberg, 
3; time, 50 seconds,” was announced. The 
horses were wheeled about and brought to the 
judges’ stand. 

Eleve ’s big head was hanging; Shine holding 
on to the lines with both fists, his whip tucked 
under one arm, was trying to keep him from 
stumbling over himself. But he made no at- 
tempt to bite at Robert E. Lee, as side by side, 
they were unsaddled. Once, as they were being 
led into the stabling enclosure, he made a grab 


104 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


at his successful rival, but Shine, who was at 
his head, struck him with his elbow, and made 
him desist. “ He ’s dead tired ’ ’ remarked a score 
of onlookers as he was being cooled off. Never 
had he seemed so listless, as with head drooping, 
he was led around the improvised cooling ring. 
When he was put in his box, and locked in for 
the night, he showed no desire to eat. He lay 
down on the straw, and moaned audibly. If 
anyone had heard him it would have sounded 
like an attack of colic. When the old horse got 
up half an hour later, he bagan scanning the 
stall, as best he could in the gloom. Hanging 
from the rafters were two nooses of stout rope, 
used to swing the brooms and forks out of the 
horses’ way. With a deep sigh the old cam- 
paigner raised himself on his hind feet and stuck 
his head through one of these. Then he let him- 
self drop. It was high enough to allow his fore- 
feet to dangle several inches above the floor. His 
weight drew the noose tight; he bore down on 
it with all his weight. The stall began to swirl 
in circles like myriad race courses; streaks of 
light as varied as jockey colors flashed before his 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


105 


eyes ; there was a roar like the hoofbeats of a cav- 
alcade, then all became darkness, silence. 

Ernest Renan has said that animals are not 
automatons, that they have the intelligence of 
little children; there are many children who 
kill themselves after some bitter disappointment. 
Next morning when Lemon Shaaber and Shine 
opened the box they found the faithful horse 
dead. “Didn't I tell you, boss," said Shine, 
tearfully, “dat de ole feller ‘ud nebber get 
over bein ’ beaten by a geldin 9 ? 9 ’ 



SPIRITUALLY DEAD. 
(Story of Penn’s Creek.) 


0 YOU’RE collecting the old 
legends of the Indians, and 
witches, and ghost stories” 
said the English miner, “how 
would you like to hear a real 
experience, one that happened 
to me right here in this 
town ? ’ ’ 

1 ‘ I told him that I would be 
more than delighted to have him tell his story.” 
The Englishman, who had been standing near 
the bench where I was sitting at the stove in 
the Golden Swan, seated himself beside me, and 
commenced his narrative. All the others in the 
big room were so busy discussing the pros and 
cons of Col. Roosevelt, it was a night or two be- 
fore election, that the ghost story might go un- 
listened to and undisturbed, as far as the rest 
were concerned. 

106 



SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


107 


“It was twenty years ago coming All Souls’ 
night,” he began, “and before I was married. I 
had been talking politics in the store-room here, 
just as I was to-night, it was during the Cleve- 
land-Harrison campaign, until it got so late I 
decided to spend the night at the hotel rather 
than climb the ridge. It was a few minutes be- 
fore midnight when I turned in, and as I had 
put through a busy day, was asleep the minute 
my head touched the pillow. My last thoughts 
on losing consciousness were about Grover 
Cleveland, so what happened came from none 
of my waking impressions. 

“I never believed in ghosts, though I’d heard 
hundreds of ghost stories since moving into these 
mountains. My parents were good Christian 
people, they sometimes admitted there were such 
things as ghosts; yet I grew up a scoffer. The 
bed was comfortable, and I would have undoubt- 
edly slept until daybreak had I not felt a cold 
draught blowing on my face. I awoke with 
a start, with the impulse to jump out and shut 
the window. 

“As I rose up in bed I saw a dark figure 
standing between the bed and the window. 


108 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


There was a faint reflection of some kind in the 
room, where it came from I couldn’t tell. By 
this I perceived that the dark figure was that of 
an Indian, dressed in full warrior ’s regalia. He 
had a fine aquiline face, it was turned so that I 
could watch the magnificent lines of the profile. 

“For some reason I wasn’t frightened the 
least bit; especially as the figure remained so 
rigid I ought to have no cause for alarm. I 
must have gazed on the motionless form for at 
least ten minutes; meanwhile its outlines were 
becoming more distinct. It seemed, in some 
way, to be drawing its vital forces out of me. 
The longer I looked the more it materialized, as 
the spiritualists say. At last, when it became the 
most solid looking Indian one could wish for, it 
turned towards me. Even then I did not be- 
come frightened ; I actually liked the dark, mel- 
ancholy countenance of the savage. It made no 
attempt to come nearer to me, but I could see 
the muscles of the mouth twitch as if it wanted 
to speak. It must have been a severe effort, for 
several minutes elapsed before I fancied I 
heard anything. In my dazed condition it 
seemed to me that the Indian spoke to me in 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


109 


English. If he didn’t I don’t see how I could 
have understood him, unless he talked Pennsyl- 
vania German, of which language I knew a few 
words, even before I had married a Dutch wife, 
and brought up eight German speaking children. 

“At any rate the Indian spoke to me, calling 
me by my name, Jack Carter, to my great sur- 
prise. When he uttered my name, and I nodded 
my head as much as to say that I was the man, 
the Indian smiled on me like a long lost brother. 
‘My good friend’ he said, as well as I can recol- 
lect, ‘I have always heard that you are an hon- 
orable and accommodating young man. ’ At this 
compliment, I unconsciously nodded my head. 
‘I want you to do a great favor for me to-night, 
you will never regret it.’ I nodded my head 
again, and began crawling out of the warm bed. 
‘That is right’ said the Indian, ‘I want you to go 
with me on the ridge . 9 

“Now as I had put up for the night at the 
Golden Swan to avoid the climb up the ridge, it 
seemed odd that this was the very thing that 
the Indian wanted me to do. I had gone to bed 
in my underclothes, so it did not take long to 
dress. I was in a hurry to put on my clothes for 


no 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


another reason, the room was terribly cold; it 
was zero weather in November. The unearthly 
light which enabled me to see the Indian, gave 
me the ability to dress without striking a match. 

“When I had my overcoat on, the Indian, 
without saying another word, turned the key in 
my door, and opened it. He led the way into the 
hall, and down the creaking staircase, I follow- 
ing like a sheep. I was afraid I would wake the 
landlord, and he’d shoot me for a house-breaker, 
but I got downstairs unnoticed. In the entry, 
the Indian unlocked the front door, and we were 
out on the porch, in the frosty night air. I re- 
call just as we stepped outside I saw a big rabbit 
scamper across the wide street in the direction 
of the old court-house. That was an unusual 
spectacle; but this was All Souls’ night when 
rabbits are said to feast on the bodies in the 
grave-yards. ‘Oh for a shotgun’ I said to my- 
self. 

The Indian quietly took the key from the door, 
locked it on the outside, and handed it to me. 
I remember sticking it in one of the pockets of 
my overcoat. He led the way off the porch, 
around the corner, and up the street past the 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


Ml 


old Academy in the direction of the ridge. There 
was no moon, but the frosty night clarified the 
atmosphere almost to the extent of making it 
luminous. I fancied I even saw Jack’s Moun- 
tain. The Indian was an excellent pathfinder; 
he seemed to know the smoothest paths, for never 
once did I stumble. 

At a farmhouse just beyond the school, a cou- 
ple of shepherd dogs ran along the inside of the 
fence barking at us. If it hadn’t been for that 
incident I might have begun to fancy this was 
all a dream. When we began climbing the ridge 
I knew it was no dream ; my heavy coat made me 
pant ; I would have stopped for breath but I did 
not want to lag behind my guide. Once or twice 
he looked around to see how I was progressing. 
He seemed to notice my distress, as he remarked 
that we would soon come to a fine spring where 
we would stop and I could drink plenty of good 
water. His consideration made me begin to feel 
that he wasn’t a ghost after all, but a belated 
masquerader from Hallowe’en just a few nights 
past. I was amazed at my docility in his hands. 
Around the old town many called me behind my 


112 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


back ‘ ‘ a bull-headed Englishman, ’ ’ which meant 
that I was stubborn and not tractable. 

Finally we reached the spring; I had been 
there many times before when out huckleberry- 
ing or hunting. It was the biggest spring on 
the ridge. Someone years before had walled up 
the sides, there was a bowl of water three feet 
square, and of like depth, water deliciously 
sweet and cool. The reason it tasted so good was 
that a mammoth hemlock which grew directly 
above the spring had been left standing. It 
shaded the water; its roots, according to the old 
belief, sweetened it. There was a large gourd 
on one of the retaining walls, so I drank my fill. 

Then I sat down cold as it was, on the wall, 
but did not seem to feel it. The Indian took a 
seat opposite and began eyeing me intently. 
‘‘Kind friend,” he said, “you have come this 
far without complaining. I know I have asked 
a great deal of you, but the real favor will now 
be explained . 1 1 Then he sat silent for a moment 
or two, still gazing at me. I liked his big, strong, 
open face; there was something about him that 
would have made me lay down my life for him. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


113 


“Come with me,” he resumed, rising to his 
feet. I obeyed mechanically, and he began 
climbing the ridge above the spring. We had 
gone about a hundred yards over the loose rocks, 
when he halted. “See there,” he said, pointing 
to a circular mound of jagged lichen-covered 
rocks, overgrown with evergreen ferns, “un- 
der that hillock is buried all that is mortal 
of my sweetheart, who was the beautiful 
Pilurvi, a niece of Shickalemy. I am Nisuque, 
a chieftain of the Lenni-Lenape. The fair 
maid and I met, we loved, we became be- 
trothed, and then alas, she suddenly died. I 
always believed she was poisoned by a maiden 
of our tribe, who was needlessly jealous. We 
buried her here; I was disconsolate. For pro- 
tection against the wild beasts, I filled the grave 
with heavy rocks, but they may have also served 
to imprison her spirit. In all kinds of weather 
I visited her tomb nightly, hoping to hold 
communion with her tschipey or ghost. But 
naught but damp vapors from the crevices of 
the rocks met my straining eyes. I called in 
the wise men; they invoked all their mystic in- 


114 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


cantations, and songs, and entreaties, but absent 
was the fair Pilurvi. 

Then I was ambushed along the Susquehanna 
one afternoon, while I was fishing peaceably. 
White men, Scotch- Irishmen did it, and my body 
stripped of its strings of elks’ teeth and beads, 
was thrown in the river. My spirit emerged, 
full-blown, and completely conscious, I could 
move through the country with the velocity of 
the night wind. I visited my Pilurvi ’s grave; 
I penetrated its inmost depths, holding in my 
ghostly embrace her few remaining bones. But 
she seemed to be spiritually dead, there was no 
ghost. I became aware that there could be no 
further progress for me in the spiritual world 
unless I could assemble her wraith. In my flights 
through the living world through all the years 
I looked at many faces, but there was none but 
yours, that seemed to have the sympathy or the 
power to help me. 

“I knew you were not given to spells or pow- 
wows, but from your old mother you had learned 
some of the English witchery, a thousand years 
old. I came to believe you could raise the dead, 
that is make the ghost of a departed person as- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


115 


semble itself. I tried to appear to you on many 
occasions in your own home, but could not. The 
reason was that you reside in a new house, there 
has never been a death in any of the rooms. I 
can only materialize in a room where someone 
has died; in such an apartment particles of the 
disembodied spirit cling to the woodwork, the 
furniture, the pictures. These stimulated 
materialization. At last my wait was to be 
rewarded. Tonight you became belated and 
decided to spend the night at the Golden Swan. 
To my infinite good fortune, the landlord as- 
signed you to a room where there had been a 
death. A young woman, abandoned by her lov- 
er, cut an artery, and bled to death there, over 
sixty years ago. Ghost-fibre is more pregnant in 
the particles of a victim of a violent death. The 
fragments of her mutilated personality, linger- 
ing in the woodwork and old window sashes, 
helped me admirably. I appeared; I led you 
willingly from the room. Now will you not raise 
the spirit of my beloved Pilurvi, to make me 
happy until the great forces of oblivion forever 
disintegrate us?” 


116 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


As he ceased talking, the Indian held out both 
his dark, brawny hands, in an appealing ges- 
ture. I was touched by his appeal, but for a 
moment could not recollect my mother’s instruc- 
tions for raising the dead. In my boyhood, we 
had often sat before the red light of the stove, 
having blown out the candle for economy’s sake, 
talking of the ghosts and witches of Lancashire, 
while we waited for my good father’s return 
from his lodge meeting. 

The Indian and I were standing on either side 
of the mound ; I could see, by the weird unearth- 
ly light which shone from its indefinite source, 
that he was deeply agitated. I would help him, 
if I could, even if I lost my soul in so doing. 
“ Raise a body lose a soul,” was an old expres- 
sion my mother ofttimes made to me. But here 
I wasn’t asked to raise a dead body, it was only 
to bring back a prematurely disintegrated spirit. 
Suddenly, what I must do, dawned on me. The 
Indian detected the smile in my eyes. 

“Oh, friend,” he exclaimed, “you have found 
it, it is to come to pass, I am to see my beloved 
Pilurvi.” 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


117 


I motioned to him to follow me. We retraced 
our steps back to the spring, across the jagged 
rocks. I took the gourd from the wall, filling it 
with water. I breathed on the water, and re- 
turned to the mound, carrying it as carefully 
as I could. If I spilled a drop, the spell would 
be lost, for that night at least. Heavy on my 
feet as I was, I managed to get back to the 
mound, without spilling any of the water. Ar- 
riving there, I breathed on it again, then poured 
it slowly over the hillock. When it touched the 
rocks, a steam resembling what arises when wa- 
ter is poured over a hot stove, enveloped both 
the Indian and myself. It was a peculiar vapor, 
hot and oppressive, smelling sweet like the wa- 
ter had tasted. There was a tremendous amount 
of steam, considering the small quantity of wa- 
ter. 

The Indian was less excited than I ; it was the 
first test of powers conveyed to me years before ; 
I felt like a bird caged a lifetime at length freed 
and given a chance to try his wings. But after 
a few minutes the volume of vapor began nar- 
rowing, to assume a spiral form. The odor grad- 
ually became that which we associate with new- 


118 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


born babies. Surely something was coming into 
entity. I was thrilled with a consciousness of 
my greatness. I, Jack Carter, a poor English 
miner, could actually be the genesis of a ghost. 
The spiral shortened, tapering itself into a hu- 
man form; it began to take on natural tints, to 
solidify. It was not long now before there stood 
between the Indian and myself, tiptoeing on the 
rocks of the mound, the fragile figure of an In- 
dian girl. 

“Oh, Pilurvi, Pilurvi,” the hysterical lover 
shouted, as he leaped forward, and clasped her 
shrinking in her loveliness, in his arms. It was 
an affecting love-scene, even to me, who had not 
read many love stories, nor seen much of lofty 
kinds of love in my sordid career. I could see 
her put her slender, graceful arms around his 
waist, and press her face against his neck, and 
begin kissing him. 

How strange that my old mother’s talk would 
come to pass like this ; it was the necromancy of 
the Druids, nothing less. I recollected that my 
maternal grandmother had often boasted of be- 
ing born in the shadow of Snowdon. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


119 


But even in the midst of his long-deferred 
rapture, the Indian was not forgetful of his finer 
traits, especially the one of gratitude. Softly 
taking his right arm from around his sweet- 
heart’s waist, he extended it to me. I clasped 
it ; it felt real. It was like shaking hands across 
the gulf of infinity, the gulf of the unknowable. 
Even while holding my hand, I noticed the clasp 
grow less intense; it soon faded into emptiness; 
I saw the two figures waft themselves away to- 
gether into the dense tanglewood of the ridge. 

I was alone out there on that dismal moun- 
tain. Guided by the same unearthly light, I 
climbed back to the spring, and from there man- 
aged to retrace my steps to the mountain road. 
From that point on, I got along very well. When 
I re-passed the farmhouse above the old Acad- 
emy, the two shepherd dogs ran along the inside 
of the paling fence, barking hideously while 
their long hair stood on end like the bristles of 
Irish terriers. I thought I saw a dark figure 
disappear around one corner of the Academy ; I 
had heard that the grounds were haunted by the 
ghost of an old drawing teacher who was dis- 
missed because of the infirmities of age, and who 


120 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


had died shortly afterwards of a broken heart 
in his desolate lodgings. Why shouldn’t he be 
out on All Souls’ Night? Perhaps he, too, 
wanted me to do a favor for him ! 

When I reached the broad main street with 
its double row of stately maples growing visible 
at the approach of dawn, I saw that big rabbit 
again, right in the middle of the avenue. At 
the sound of my approach he darted away into 
the gloom of the old court-house. I went up the 
steps of the hotel, instinctively turning the knob 
of the front door. Then I recalled that I had 
the key in my pocket. As I turned the key, I 
looked down the street; it was light enough to 
make out the frowning height of Jack’s Moun- 
tain, with all its pent-up romance and tragedy. 
As I went up the stairs I encountered the land- 
lord ’s wife coming down to build an early fire, 
for there was to be butchering that day. “Oh, 
you sly boots,” she said, shaking her plump fore- 
finger at me, “I heard you go down stairs and 
out, after midnight; can’t you keep away from 
that girl of yours even for one night?” I said 
nothing, only smiled; if she could only have 
guessed my nocturnal doings!” 


VII. 


ONE HOUR OF HAPPINESS. 
(Story of the Lower Mahantango.) 


HE lower Mahantango has two 
branches which come togeth- 
er near Klingerstown. In the 
language of the Lenni-Lenape 
they were called Wilawans 
or horns. The north branch 
rises from the boiling springs, 
high up in the laurel thickets 
at Locustdale. The south 
branch heads at Zerby Springs, gushing out 
from under a huge flat conglomerate rock. Ma- 
hantango, in its ancient usage, meant dragon’s 
stream, and the two forks were called wilawans, 
after his horns. The mystic origin of the stream 
has been stated as follows: A great demon or 
dragon persisted in annoying the good Indians 
who resided in the rich vales bordering on the 
Susquehanna. The Getchi-Manitto or Great 

121 



© 


l/"N /-\J 


122 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


Spirit ordered the monster to leave the locality. 
Upon its refusal, he turned it into a stream, 
its horns being represented by the two branches. 
With such a beginning the vales of the Mahan- 
tango have always been tinctured with mystery 
and romance. World wide is the faith of As* 
tarte. 

The soothsayers of the Lenni-Lenape claimed 
that they could produce more potent spells in 
this vicinity than anywhere else. It also grew 
the finest Indian corn, tobacco and potatoes. Its 
braves were the most warlike, its women the 
most beautiful. Majestic is the scenery every 
foot of the way from the twin sources to where, 
under the spreading shade of ancient, smooth- 
barked white-oaks, it bids farewell to its quiet 
meanderings and plunges into the big river. 

The Mahantango Mountain, commonly called 
the “old camel-back, ’ ’ ends abruptly at the 
river, its castellated heights are on terms of in- 
timacy with the morning; the stern profile of 
the murdered Teedyuscung, last great chief of 
the Lenni-Lenape, menaces the broad 1 ‘ Irish 
Sea,” and brings on storms when his thoughts 
turn to the subject of his wrongs. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


123 


There have been certain seasons of certain 
years when the Mahantango was navigable for 
canoes, almost from the headwaters of both 
forks. Lucky was the traveller who launched 
his craft at the proper season ; it was like a pil- 
grimage through a real garden of the gods. No 
matter what the mood on starting out, how black 
the future loomed, the genial sunshine, the fleecy 
white clouds, the rich green mountains, the tas- 
seled foliage of the ancient oaks, all would woo 
back a love of life, a wish to live always. It was 
the ideal region in which to change a mood. It 
was a remote corner of the world, yet in reality 
removed but a few hours from the busy centres, 
where one could begin life anew. While to the 
thoughtful person, life can never be absolutely 
happy, the almost perfect state of content can 
be realized along the Maliantongo. To float 
down this exquisite stream on an afternoon in 
early summer would be to make anyone an art- 
ist, a lover of the world beautiful. The songs 
of the birds, from the shrill calls of the jays, to 
the introspective notes of the rarest of the warb- 
lers, would make a person love music more, for 
having listened to nature ’s own rhapsodies. The 


124 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


sight and fragrance of the unnamed host of 
wild flowers massing on the banks, would be 
conducive of pure, delicate, ethereal thoughts. A 
lofty thought always begins with the recollection 
of some fair woman, and ends with memories of 
another. To float down the Mahantango would 
be to feel restored to the enchanted company of 
the women we loved, or should have loved. Each 
little streamlet, that with resolute effort to be 
heard, tumbles into the parent creek, on the 
way, is like a resolve growing stronger with ex- 
perience. The grand old trees are landmarks 
of our strongest, and most worthy emotions, the 
eternal verities of our existence. 

Happiness can be experienced along the Ma- 
hantango, but life being a cycle, we must return 
homeward with the point of view which began 
our journey. No joy approaching true happi- 
ness can last. It stands out so strong in our 
memories because it is followed by the inevitable 
letdown, like a drab asbestos curtain shuts out 
the stage after a brilliant play. 

Once upon a time there was a young antiqua- 
rian who thought he felt the pain that lasts 
through life. That pain comes from an untoward 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


125 


ending of a romance, leaving one alone. Some 
can never understand why it was for the best that 
the beautiful image with her golden hair and 
drooping eyes should go elsewhere, after declar- 
ing her fealty. The more one ponders on the sub- 
ject the more perplexing it grows ; it is as great a 
whirlpool of misunderstanding as the riddle of 
existence. We know a loving God made the 
world, we know He made this fairest of its crea- 
tures; and why not for us — when we surely 
could have loved her better than anyone else. 

The young antiquarian after the sudden upset 
of his ideals was often drawn back into the 
neighborhood of his great romance, just as Pe- 
trarch, wandering in many kingdoms always re- 
turned to the valley of the Rhone. But what 
solace could there be in reviving old associations ; 
literally it was like visiting a graveyard of the 
soul. A great hope was buried there, alas with 
no resurrection. Do not ghosts revisit scenes of 
their greatest joys or their deepest wrongs? 
After each visit he vowed he would never re- 
turn; it had done no good; he could not hear 
even the rustle of an angel ’a wing. Nobody ever 
mentioned her name; this was done to save his 


126 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


feelings, he suspected, the profound conspiracy 
of silence. 

But this golden image haunted him every- 
where, on the seas, in foreign lands, forever he 
kept asking himself why it was so, why couldn’t 
it have been otherwise? Then with the inimita- 
ble defeat of understanding, he fell back to the 
centuries-old lament, what had he done to incur 
God’s displeasure? He felt that in the future 
despair would succeed despair ; conceived in dis- 
appointment disappointed always. 

It was after all this painful and profitless 
spiritual countermarching that one evening he 
found himself at an old farmhouse, in a patch 
grubbed out from the laurel jungles of the boil- 
ing springs. The happy ferocity of the foam 
as it sprang from its cavernous beginnings, and 
soon became a torrent charmed him; he felt in 
its virile anxiety the sensations of the new life. 
He must follow this exuberant youngster, and 
in its course his exquisite pain would be drowned 
in laughing ripples. There was an old canoe, 
swung over rafters in the farmer’s workshop, 
that might be requisitioned. The farmer him- 
self had navigated the course eighteen years be- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


127 


fore, yet not since. Was he in love then? From 
his smiling blue eyes, and broad, ruddy face, he 
had picked up enough happiness on the way to 
obviate the necessity of another voyage. But 
his trip having begun in happiness ended in 
happiness j that encountered on the way was the 
same emotion, only experienced in a different 
stretch of country. 

There is a certain crispness of the atmosphere 
that belongs peculiarly to the first days of June, 
especially after heavy rains. There is an invig- 
oration in each breath of air we take in, that 
calls us to begin our most exalted tasks, our most 
sincere revelations. It was on one of the morn- 
ings, after a downpour of several days’ dura- 
tion, that the young antiquarian dragged the re- 
habilitated canoe to the banks of Mahantango. 
As he slid the prow into the eddying current, a 
halcyon darted down the stream. “You will 
have good weather all the way,” said the farm- 
er, pointing to the shrieking, laughing bird. 

The boat was as quaint, and sprightly as the 
stream or the day ; one could scarcely guess that 
it had rested unused for eighteen long years. It 
had been kept out of the bad weather, all it 


128 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


needed was a good dusting off, and here and 
there a little patching, to make it 1 ‘ seaworthy .’ ’ 
The cheerful farmer got out his red paint, and 
brightened the color on the little pictures of In- 
dian arrows which were painted on the sides, 
near the bow. The boat was called the Arrow, 
because he had found an arrowhead of jasper 
imbedded in the sassafras tree from which he 
peeled the bark used in its construction. What 
a legend must have underlaid this incident ! He 
gave the antiquarian the arrow-head; like the 
halcyon it augured well. “Don’t travel too far 
in one day, or it will be over too soon,” was the 
farmer’s parting injunction. 

If we could only act the same way in life we 
might tarry where the world used us best; if 
we could only say to the gods “this moment I 
am happy, here and like this I intend to stay!” 
The trip down the little river proved the pana- 
cea expected. Memories of past sorrows faded 
into a thin golden haze, only the sweetest quin- 
tessence of romance reflected itself in the shade 
of the oaks, by the marshy iris-lined shores. 

In some places the stream coursed through 
woods, mostly of white oak, but here and there 

















































. 



























































OLD RIVER BRIDGE AT LOCK HAVEN, PENN* A 







SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


129 


were a few venerable white pines. In other 
places it passed farmsteads, neat little cottages 
of stone plastered over, with red roofs of tiles 
or metal. In front of every cottage, with out- 
stretched branches sometimes dipping in the 
current, stood mammoth buttonwood trees, trees 
akin to the planes of the ancients. 

Then one or two villages were passed, as quaint, 
and semi-conscious as any in the old world. It 
was a region, should Vergil come to life, he 
would instinctively drift to, and immortalize. 
Some day a rustic Vergil or a Catullus, will be 
produced in these hidden-away bowers who will 
give it the voice which it now lacks in its long 
silences. And indeed they were long silences; 
the breezes whistling through the tree-tops, the 
jaunty morning breezes; the ceaseless ripple, 
rush, run of the current, an occasional cock- 
crow, a tinkling sheep-bell, the rattle of the 
halcyon, the frightened squawk of a duck, be- 
yond this all was still, as mute as the bland, ex- 
pansive blue dome. 

Following the advice of the farmer who had 
been the earlier navigator, the antiquarian 
stopped frequently, and rested under the old 


130 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


buttonwoods and red-birches, to absorb some ef- 
fect of light or shade, to listen to the whistling 
breezes, or catch the shy, reflective notes of a 
warbler. In this way the little river’s length 
could be expanded immeasurably. It would be 
poison to the soul to quit such scenes hurriedly. 

But sometimes when the sky was particularly 
blue, the foliage peculiarly like brocade, the 
yongs of the yellow- throats hidden in the laurel, 
and red-winged blackbirds more witching, and 
the iris grew in thicker clusters, with an occa- 
sional white flower among them, that the anti- 
quarian longed for someone to enjoy these de- 
lights with him. His was the plaint of Omar. 
Tears almost came to his eyes at the thought 
that the only way this nature’s wonderland 
fould be conveyed to others, would be through 
his imperfect writings. 

That afternoon the mood of nature changed. 
The fleecy white clouds turned pink ash, then 
royal purple, then black. The whistling breezes 
in the mazy tops of the high buttonwoods and 
beeches assumed a roar, the swift running water 
fumed itself from terra-marine to brown. Many 
of the iris flowers lost their heads in the killing 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


131 


wind, their floating petals racing the canoe. The 
halcyon darted to his hole, the yellow throats 
and nut-hatches were silent. The wading cattle 
forsook the water, and sought cover in the lea 
of the bank-barns, the sheep ran hither and 
thither, rattling their puny little bells. A rush 
of hot-air surcharged the atmosphere, then came 
an icy gust from the far-off Broad Mountain 
summit surely, followed by the rain, sharp, cold, 
slanting rain. With it came flashes of lightning 
and thunder peals. The antiquarian liked the 
sensation of floating down-stream in a storm. 
However, as he did not have a rain-coat, or 
change of clothing, it behooved him to find tem- 
porary shelter until the downpour abated. 
“There is a destiny that marks our ends.” 

On the southerly bank of the creek, well-ob- 
scured by a heavy fringe of old willows, stood a 
small frame one-story cottage. It had a broad 
verandah, or projecting roof, more like that of 
a blacksmith’s shop than a dwelling. There was 
an old-fashioned brick chimney, almost as wide, 
and several feet higher than the house. Myrtle 
and honey-suckle grew profusely about the foun- 
dations. A pathway, hedged by well-grown cro- 


132 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


cuses led from the porch to the river edge, and 
easterly to the public road. The door was 
locked, windows barred; no one seemed to be 
about, but here was to be the young man’s tem- 
porary haven. He paddled to shore, beached 
the craft, and ran along the path to the veran- 
dah. 

There was only one chair on it, a very small, 
narrow rocker, with a patch of faded buckskin 
laid over the wooden seat. Evidently there was 
someone connected with that house given to soli- 
tary contemplation, to introspective reverie. He 
knocked on the door several times, there was no 
response. He boldly seated himself in the chair, 
to try to conjure up a mental picture of its 
owner. What a charming way to wait while the 
storm continued. He was sure she was a woman, 
she might be a very old, feeble, friendless wo- 
man, but in his soul he saw the picture of a 
beautiful young girl. In his imagination he saw 
her coming up the path, between the lines of 
crocus, in the slackening rain, dragging an um- 
brella, her eyes cast down in pensive indiffer- 
ence. As she drew near, she raised her eyes, 
enhanced by long black lashes and brows, they 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


133 


were the color of terra-marine, large, and true 
windows of the soul. What he could see of 
her face was oval, very pale, a whiteness most 
unusual. Masses of wavy, soft dark hair blew 
about her face, so well-shaded by a broad- 
brimmed black straw hat. Her straight, full 
nose was the most impressive, as well as aggres- 
sive feature ; her mouth sensitive and thin. She 
wore a raincoat, the lines of which did not al- 
together conceal a certain pitiful meagreness of 
hips, which strangely enough was one of her 
chief charms. She was of medium height, with 
that slimness of the teens. She wore a low, 
broad collar, revealing the smooth, round out- 
lines of her marble throat. She had on a simple 
white shirt-waist, with some sort of tie at the 
neck, a dark skirt, low shoes encased in rubbers. 
That was the impression she gave, as she wand- 
ered up the path, in his imagination, his dream 
world. She was the most beautiful person he 
had ever seen, she was far more lovely to look at 
than the porcelain statuette that a friend of his 
possessed, and which he considered his idea of 
feminine perfection. Apart from this he thought 


134 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


her like no other woman, except that she was a 
little like one in far distant Tien-tsin. 

He arose from the wobbly little rocker, which 
he now knew was hers. When she drew near he 
took off his hat, explaining his intrusion, and 
trying to engage her in conversation. On close 
view he was appalled by the completeness of her 
beauty. Her voice was soft and pleasing, her 
manner gracious, who could she be in this far-off, 
hidden wilderness of the Mahantango ! He tried 
to converse with her, he was in deadly earnest in 
his desire to try to impress her, but somehow he 
was not at his best. After some urging she sat 
down in the little rocker, which she admitted was 
hers ; he leaned against one of the uprights of the 
porch. How he longed to be able to fathom her 
secret thoughts and aspirations! But he could 
devise no leading questions, no interesting lines 
of thought. His soul , as he afterwards wrote in 
his journal, was dumb, his shallow exterior per- 
sonality did all the talking. But he was never so 
completely absorbed in an object in his whole 
life before. He saw someone in whom was real- 
ized the striving of all artists, one of God’s 
masterpieces. When God intentionally or un- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


135 


intentionally produces so many grotesques, how 
difficult it is for those desirous of feeling the 
ideal in nature to find inspiration or models ! 

The conversation continued, all the while he 
felt himself laboring under a disadvantage. His 
inability to do himself justice proved that he 
was loving a phantom. The last rain-drop had 
fallen; the countryside was enveloping itself in 
the cloudy silence of dusk. And yet he pro- 
longed his talk, why should he seek to resume the 
empty unsatisfactory life. Why couldn’t he 
say “This moment I am happy, here and like 
this I intend to stay ! ’ ’ But if real surroundings 
like these are unstable, how much so a little one 
act drama in the recesses of the soul ! He heard 
a hysterical cry of a cat-bird, settling down to 
sleep, among the wild grape vines back of the 
cottage. He heard the slow and measured ‘ ‘ tang, 
tang, tang, tang, tang, tang, tang, ’ ’ seven o ’clock, 
of a sedate, tall timepiece, in a corner of the 
room, which he could dimly see through the 
small panes of the window. He had tasted some 
unknown person’s hospitality long enough. If 
he had failed to find words to charm a wraith of 


136 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


happiness, how clumsy he would be in the pres- 
ence of the cottagers. 

With the cat-bird’s dozing cry, he had seen no 
more of the fair, blue eyed vision in the rickety 
little rocking-chair. She was gone. He was 
alone with the memory of a grand ideal, happi- 
ness was less real than ever before. As he left 
the verandah the crickets had begun to chorus, 
maybe they were welcoming the cottagers’ re- 
turn, if he waited longer he might meet the 
pretty little girl in flesh and blood. But exper- 
ience taught him the limitations of bliss; he 
walked sadly down the path, between the clusters 
of crocus, the spreading myrtle. 

At the river-brink the wavelets were lapping 
among the swaying stems of iris ; the calamus and 
cat-tails, half submerged by the swollen torrent, 
waved their heavy heads. He climbed into the 
‘‘Arrow,” and started on his way; he would 
glide along in the darkness for another hour or 
two. A short distance below the mystic cottage, 
a suspension foot-bridge of loose boards and 
cables spanned the stream. As he neared it he 
looked up, an aged, tottering woman, hatless, and 
shabby, was wending her way across, holding on 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


137 


to the wire supports as best she could. Under 
her arm dragged a faded cotton umbrella. As she 
was moving in the direction of the cottage, sure- 
ly she was the owner of the little rocking chair, 
with its cushion of buckskin. She was the re- 
flective person, the introspective listener. Per- 
haps in a day gone by she had looked like the 
dream creation who had come to talk to him; 
that was why he felt ill at ease, it was reality 
abashed before the infinite. And in the gather- 
ing gloom his mind traveled back to the thoughts 
of a lost love, blonde and beautiful, who had 
stirred him when he embarked at the boiling 
spring. 



VIIi. 


THE PLAY-GIRL. 

(Story of Middle Creek Country). 

HEN Curtin Pewterbaugh 
emerged from the private of- 
fice of the sales ’ stable in 
West Philadelphia, he folded, 
and placed in his wallet, a 
check mounting up into the 
four figures, the proceeds of 
the disposal of his carload of 
Snyder County horses. He 
had only spent a small amount of the roll of bills 
he had brought with him for expenses, conse- 
quently was feeling “ well-fixed. ’ , Evening was 
coming on; he would spend one night enjoying 
the sights of the Quaker metropolis, before re- 
turning to his farm at the base of the Shade 
Mountains. 

There all was so silent nights, save when the hy- 

lodes, crickets or katy-dids were in season, or the 

138 



SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


139 


whip-poor-wills ; sometimes the foxes barked from 
their dens on the bare cliffs ; once he heard what 
old settlers told him was a panther. In Phila- 
delphia night seemed to accentuate every sound. 
The clang of the trolley bells was louder, the 
shriek of train whistles, as they crossed the 
Schuylkill bridge, the honk of automobile horns, 
the rumble of heavy drays. It all seemed so 
different, he liked the very loudness of it, his 
consciousness seemed to open wider under this 
medley of sounds. 

He strolled along a half dozen squares before 
boarding a trolley car; the lights of even the 
smallest shops were magnified to his receptive 
vision. He finally boarded a car which carried 
him down Market Street, into the very heart of 
the city. The hurrying crowds pouring into 
Broad Street Station fascinated him; he craned 
his neck watching them from the car-window. 
The charm of so much life and motion overcame 
him ; he signalled to the conductor and got out. 
He followed the human stream up the steps into 
the terminal. For an hour he wandered about 
watching the out-going and in-coming travelers, 
wondering what their hidden purposes might 


140 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


be. For Curtin Pewterbaugh, despite his back- 
woods bringing up, was an imaginative youth. 
The depot restaurant looked good to him; he 
sat on a stool at the counter eating, hemmed in 
by hurried, hungry beings. 

Later in the evening he strolled under the 
arched portico, and into the open-court of the 
City Hall, and out again into the brilliantly lit 
Market Street. He strolled down that thorough- 
fare a few squares, gazing at the crowds moving 
theatre-wards. He turned into one of the side 
streets, which he followed until he came to 
Chestnut Street. Here were more bright lights, 
gay, smiling throngs. He caught their spirit ad- 
mirably, it drove away incipient loneliness. He 
saw a thick stream of people crowding up some 
steep steps into a theatre. The flare of the white 
electric lamps attracted him. He gazed with 
amusement at the uniformed, epauletted, stal- 
wart Negro carriage-man dexterously opening 
the doors of horse-vehicles and automobiles. One 
or two old Germantowns in the line were in 
curious contrast to the mammoth limousines. 

Several gayly colored billboards told of the 
play; he couldn’t quite grasp what it all meant. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


141 


He went in determined to find out what kind of 
a play it was that could attract such crowds. 

When he got in line to buy his ticket, he rec- 
ollected he had plenty of money, a seat in the 
orchestra would suit his taste. 

He got a fairly good seat; he hired a pair of 
opera glasses, he gave the usher a quarter who 
seated him. Settling himself, he felt the equal 
of any person in the playhouse. Several women 
glanced at him from under their head-dresses; 
he was good looking, of a ruddy semi-blonde type 
seldom seen in the city. In the subdued light 
before the curtain w r ent up, his dark clothes 
blended into the shadows, he seemed as well 
dressed as anyone. 

He admired the picture on the drop curtain. 
It represented a shepherdess driving a flock of 
sheep, presumably homeward, in the moonlight. 
In the background was a river bathed in silvery 
moon-rays, and distant hills. The prevailing 
tone of the picture was a pink-ash. He had seen 
the Susquehanna at night look just that way. 
How beautiful, how fresh and open, was life 
where he had come from. How narrow, arti- 
ficial, hot it was, in the life typified by the thea- 


142 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


tre and its patrons! His bosom swelled with 
conscious pride that he came from a wild, bold 
region, where one could look over endless ranges 
of mountains and valleys until vision faltered, 
where above all the eagle drifted on the wind. 
He thought of the highly mettled colts he had 
broken; what a virile occupation compared to 
scraping a fiddle in an orchestra. 

The overture was finished, the curtain rose. 
The play was English, the Company were sup- 
posed to be, but like most aggregations of Eng- 
lish players, most of them were Irish. The play 
was partly unintelligible to Curtin Pewter- 
baugh. He heard persons laughing on every side 
of him; he stared at them in blank amazement. 
To him there was nothing especially funny in 
the lines, he waited eagerly for a real joke. He 
recalled he had heard some good jokes in the 
opera house at Sunbury, when, “The Brass 
Monkey’ ’ by the late Charles Hoyt, played 
there. 

Vanquished in his effort to fathom the plot, 
or fully understand the humor, he began scan- 
ning the faces and figures of the actresses. Sure- 
ly they were a pretty and stylish lot. The hired 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


143 


opera glasses drew them very close, though he 
had a good pair of eyes. There was one girl, a 
little red-head, whom he found himself noticing 
more closely than the others. He said to him- 
self that he liked her best. She reminded him of 
a girl who came to visit at Paxtonville several 
years before. She had been betrothed to the 
Lutheran preacher, else he would have ‘ 4 paid at- 
tention to her.” She was a tiny bit of a thing, 
with a laughing expression to her eyes, eyes the 
color of beer, as it is said were Chopin’s. It 
seemed a pity, he had thought, to marry her to a 
sky-pilot. He used to drive by the parsonage 
with his pair of steel grey colts sired by Col. 
Sober’s old favorite Wilkes Boy, out of a mare by 
Blue Boy; they were twins, and a dashing span 
they made. He wished he could have asked her 
to go driving with him, especially on the clear 
Sunday afternoons in August, but she was the 
affianced wife of another. He had later heard 
she married the preacher, and gone to some town 
in Huntingdon County. This girl on the stage 
was her living image. Could the little red-head 
of his secret romance have run off from her 


144 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


sepulchral mate, and become a play-girl? He 
looked at her minutely through the glasses. 

The girl on the stage had more fully developed 
features; her soul was not so deeply imbedded 
in the flesh. It was a more interesting personal- 
ity, let the preacher keep his red head. There 
was a Berks County twang to the preacher’s 
girl’s voice; she always said “hea-h” for hear, 
and so on. The play girl had a delightfully clear 
English intonation. But physically she sent the 
same shudder through him as the preacher ’s fian- 
cee had done, even at a distance. She awakened a 
longing which had burned itself down to a dull 
~ flicker, ever since he had realized his love must 
be “a bride of the church.” The play girl had 
the same even white teeth; why did God make 
two persons both out of his reach so very much 
alike ! He watched her intently all through the 
three acts of the performance; he had never 
been so happy in all his life. Once he thought 
their eyes met, and she seemed in no hurry to 
remove her glance. He felt that he knew her 
when the curtain fell on the last act; he could 
hardly realize that they had come to a parting 
of the ways. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


145 


In the lobby his eyes rested on the big letter- 
ing of the billboards laying special emphasis on 
the fact that it was an “English Company / 1 
“That girl will cross the ocean and I’ll never 
see her again.” Then he pondered to himself, 
“perhaps she has a sweetheart like the girl who 
came to Paxton ville, or maybe she’s got a hus- 
band. ’ ’ 

The home-bent crowd jostled him out of the 
lobby and into the street. On the sidewalk he 
heard a great clock somewhere tolling “eleven.” 
He had time to go to his hotel, get his satchel, 
and board the eleven-forty night express for 
Sunbury. He would arrive there in the morning, 
before dawn crimsoned the river. He was so 
busy thinking about the play-girl that he 
reached his hotel, and the station with wonderful 
alacrity. We do everything quicker and more 
effectively when in trances like these. He got 
in the day-coach, turned back a seat, and throw- 
ing his overcoat over his knees, stretched out for 
a nap. He couldn’t feel drowsy, his mind was 
too keenly awake, living over the thrills pro- 
duced by the little red-head at the show. At 
best his impression of the rest of the play had 


146 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


been hazy; now he had forgotten it all except 
his beautiful vision. The thought of never see- 
ing her again tortured him. He turned and 
twisted in the seat; he read and re-read the 
crumpled play bill. He wanted to sleep, to draw 
a curtain over his misery, temporarily. He 
pulled down his soft hat, thinking the lights 
kept him awake, he tied his handkerchief over 
his eyes; but to no avail. He was wide-awake 
until after the train left Harrisburg; then he 
dozed off. 

He dreamed a glorious dream; the little red 
head and he had met, and she loved him as much 
as he loved her. Why couldn ’t this dream come 
true, he thought indignantly, when fully awake. 
Why should fate make his grandest aspiration a 
mockery, an impossibility? The conductor and 
brakemen were calling out for Sunbury; he 
straightened his hat, swung into his heavy ul- 
ster, and joined the procession towards the car- 
exit. Out on the platform of the station, in the 
crisp morning air, he felt very much alone and 
disconsolate. He had never once thought of the 
money he had made on his shipment of 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


147 


“ chunks;” it was dead ashes in his hand now; 
what he wanted was the little play-girl. 

He walked up and down the platform ner- 
vously, carrying his satchel, until the local was 
made up which would carry him to his moun- 
tain home. Dazed and upset, he got off the 
train ; his driver opined his business had turned 
out badly. All the way to the farm he sat with 
head hanging. He made no attempt to drive 
the spirited pair of red roans, one a stallion, the 
other a mare, which on ordinary occasions he 
loved so well. He felt like a different man, a 
grander soul was settling itself into place in the 
recesses of his nature. He did not neglect his 
business on account of the romance, on the con- 
trary, he was a shrewder dealer than before. He 
had a spiritual awakening, he was living on a 
bigger plane. 

The first night at home he dreamed about the 
play-girl, and the next, and the next. Every 
night for a month he awoke in the middle of 
the night, feeling that he had been talking to 
her, that she had been by his side, but had 
vanished. He thought it strange that much as 
he had admired the preacher’s fiancee, he had 


148 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


never dreamed of her, even when he longed for 
her most. With the play-girl it was different. 
She was uppermost in his mind all day, she was 
the sole participant in his dreams. He must 
have her, but how, in this mocking world ! What 
good would it do to return to Philadelphia and 
attend the show every night? Besides he re- 
called he had read that the play was going on 
tour, it might even now be in Scranton, Reading 
or Pittsburg. 

He did not know how to flirt, he was no adept 
in love-letters. The romance must burn itself 
out, even if it consumed him in the process. He 
recalled an old wooden candlestick of his grand- 
mother ’s which had ignited from a burnt-down 
wick, and blazed to a cinder. 

It happened after his four weeks of dreaming, 
that Curtin had put up for the night at a hotel 
,at Glen Iron, some ten miles across the moun- 
tains from his home. He was on a horse-buying 
.expedition, and an unexpected snow-storm be- 
lated him. The bar-room was the only spot to 
spend the evening. It was diverting to be there, 
as all the local celebrities who could brave the 
squalls, came in for a little cheer. Sammy Den- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


149 


ham, the genial colored landlord, amused him 
by telling the names of the different characters. 
Most of them had very little claim to 
notoriety ; a few were grizzled veterans of 
the Civil War, a couple were wolf or bear 
hunters of the long ago ; one was Adam Straub, 
the witch doctor. Although the young horse- 
man had never seen this old man before, 
he had often heard of him, his fame had 
spread across the mountains into the Middle 
Creek Valley, and further south and east. 

Old Straub was a hermit, at least he lived 
alone, his cabin was situated in the gap of the 
mountains, back of the old furnace, from which 
the settlement had taken its name. The young 
man gazed intently at the witch doctor, strange 
thoughts were passing through his mind. 
“Would you like to meet the old codger ?” said 
the landlord, noting his interest. “I surely 
would” answered the young man with empha- 
sis. The inn-keeper called the old man away 
from the bar over which he was leaning, and 
soon horseman and soothsayer were in an ani- 
mated conversation. Curtin offered the old man 
a drink and a cigar; he took a good jorum of 


150 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


Tolu, and selected a Pittsburg stogie from the 
box which the bartender held out to him. 

Then the horseman and the old fellow pushed 
through the latticed swinging door, and took 
seats in the office, back of the big stove. They 
leaned their chairs against the wall, conversing 
with all the intimacy of long-lost friends. The 
gist of the talk was that Curtin wanted old 
Straub to devise some means to ease the sorrow 
occasioned by his frequent dreams of the play- 
girl. He could never see her again; he would 
prefer to dream of her less. As the talk was 
drawing to a close, the old man shot this start- 
ling statement at his surprised listener. “If 
you loved that girl I could get her for you dead 
easy. ’ ’ 

“ Love that girl” said the young man excited- 
ly, “I ’d lay down my life for her. I never loved 
anybody in my life, except perhaps my own 
mother, like I do her ! ’ ’ 

“Oh, I didn’t understand it that way” re- 
plied the old man dryly, pulling at his long 
goatee, “I thought it was a case of someone 
haunting your sleep, and you wanted it 
stopped.” 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


15! 


“Iam dying by inches thinking and dreaming 
about her, she’s a play girl, I never thought I 
could win her, I only wanted to stop dreaming 
about her to give my soul some peace . 9 ’ 

“That’s the way I like to hear a boy talk,” 
said the witch doctor, his clear, limestone-colored 
eyes twinkling sympathetically. He continued 
pulling his chin-beard, and pondered a minute. 
Then he resumed, his voice lowered to an almost 
inaudible whisper, “Now listen, son, and I will 
tell you how to get that girl. In the first place 
no man ever dreams steadily about a girl un- 
less there is something about him that would 
suit her to perfection; there is no such thing as 
one-sided love in the dream world. That girl’s 
soul has taken a liking to you, though physically 
she may not have any recollections of having 
seen you. You and she would be happy together, 
no matter if she is a play-girl from the big world 
and you only a mountain stockman — else I 
would never help this along. When you go to 
bed to-night make the firm resolve that when 
she appears to you in the dream you will grab 
her and hold her. Catch her in your sleep and 
she can never leave. You will have her body 


152 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


and soul for keeps. You will find that she will 
be only too happy to remain with you; the past 
will be nothing to her. 

But by the by; I think it would be a mistake 
if you put this into effect at this public house. 
In the morning folks would wonder where you 
got the girl ; it might help her friends in tracing 
her. Now I live in a shanty in a remote spot; 
come and spend the night with me; I can give 
you a clean room. After you get the girl, I’ll 
come over here for your team, and you can hide 
her in my old buffalo coat and get her through 
the gap unnoticed. You’ll have a twenty-four 
hours start on any pursuers. If she ’s gone forty- 
eight hours without a clue, they ’ll give her up ; 
she will seem so at home with you, no one will 
suspect she isn’t a native mountain girl. The 
young man told the landlord he was going to 
spend the night with old Straub. ‘ ‘ I knew you ’d 
like him” said the big smiling Negro, as the bill 
was paid. 

After the old man had his night-cap of “bit- 
ters” and selected another stogie, the pair went 
out, and tramped through the snow to the lonely 
cabin in the glen. Just as he had said, the old 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


153 


fellow kept a neat house. There was a spare 
room, with two pillows on the bed, with lace 
shams, and a pretty patchwork quilt of many 
colors. “It’s close to midnight now, turn in as 
quickly as you can, no one who falls asleep after 
midnight ever had a visitation. ’ ’ 

The room was icy cold, the air sweet from in- 
frequent occupancy; it did not take the big 
healthy stockman, firmly gripping his conscious- 
ness long to fall asleep. Nor did it take him long 
to begin dreaming about the little play-girl. 
She came, attired in brown and orange, just as 
she was on the stage, her hat wobbling with yel- 
low ostrich plumes ; there were gilt pumps on her 
feet. She was smiling happily ; a gladsome light 
shone from her big blue eyes. Sleeper though 
he was, the young man was ready for her. Rais- 
ing up in bed with the alacrity of a panther, he 
seized her around the waist, and held her fast. 
She did not scream, she did not even lose her 
genial smile. She seemed a willing captive. He 
squeezed her tightly. At that moment he awoke, 
he knew that he was holding real flesh and blood. 
To make sure he kissed those red lips which he 
had adored across the footlights. “I’ve got you 


154 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


at last, you’re mine for keeps” he cried out, 
quoting the witch-doctor. 

“I knew you would get me somehow, ever 
since that night I saw you at the show, I’ve 
dreamed of you every night since.” 

“I’ve dreamed of you too” said the young 
man, ‘ ‘ every night, all day long besides ! ’ ’ 

“I am happy to be here; it’s too good to be 
true” said the girl leaning her head against his 
breast. 

‘ ‘ Isn ’t it frightfully cold in here, let ’s get out 
of this, into the next room, and sit before the 
fire. ” “If you let me kiss you again I ’ll do so. ’ ’ 
‘ ‘ Agreed ’ ’ said the girl, whose kisses were even 
more ardent than his. 

“Go in the next room and talk to the old 
gentleman who owns this house, while I dress. 
1 ’ll be with you in five minutes. ’ ’ 

The girl rolled off the bed, went into the ad- 
joining room, and closed the door. The next 
instant he heard her laughing and chatting with 
the witch doctor. Groping about he found a 
match, and soon had the candle lighted. He 
dressed, and pushed his way into the cozy kitch- 
en. By the stove, in a huge old-fashioned settle 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


155 


sat old man Straub, smiling blandly, while the 
play-girl chatted with animation. “Well, you’ve 
got your girl at last ’ ’ he said, getting up to give 
the young man the seat. 

“Yes, and I’m the happiest person in the 
world. ’ ’ 

“No, there is one who is happier, myself,” 
said the play-girl. 

The old man walked over to one corner of the 
room, where a buffalo coat hung on a peg. He 
put it on, and came back to where the lovers sat. 
“Well, it does an old hermit’s heart good to 
see such a handsome couple together. It’s like 
complimenting Nature to have helped make this 
romance come to pass. Now I’m going to leave 
for a while, and go over and get that rig at the 
hotel. I told the hostler I’d be there and wake 
him up some time before dawn.” 

The couple, left to their own devices, talked 
demurely for five minutes, and then gradually 
melted into one another’s arms, as the lamp and 
the stove burned low. Their rapture may have 
lasted an hour, they did not notice the old brown 
clock hammering away on the dresser. They 
were aroused from their state of bliss by the 


156 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


sound of buggy wheels crunching on the snow. 
Then they heard a cheery 1 1 whoa ! ’ ’ 

The old man tied the horses to a big white 
oak at his gate, and came in. “Hello, boys and 
girls” he said, “it’s soon dawn, you’d better be 
going. ’ ’ He took off the buffalo coat and put it 
over the play-girl’s graceful shoulders. “Let me 
give you some advice, friends, get married as 
soon as you can, and announce it, else the show 
people will spring another suitcase tragedy on 
the public.” 

“That we’ll do, we’ll plan it all out on the 
drive across the mountains” replied the young 
man. 

“Many thanks for accelerating destiny” said 
the play-girl. “You are a wonder.” 

“You know how grateful I am” said the 
stockman. 

“Happiness and long life to both of you” the 
old man called to the couple, as the mettlesome 
colts dug their hoofs into the snow-crust in their 
zest for motion. 

“Is this all really true or are we both dream- 
ing?” said the young man, gazing at the girl, in 
the crimsoning dawn. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


157 


“It is really true” answered the girl, her 
cheeks growing as pink as the reflection of the 
morning glow on the snow. “I did not follow 
you here, I was in the show last evening, I never 
heard of this place before I came here in a 
dream. You made it a reality.” 

“At last I know of one dream come true” 
said the young man, in a wild imaginative flight. 
On the drive they decided that they would get 
married at Middleburg and take the wedding 
breakfast at the Washington House. Curtin was 
well known there; he would have no trouble ob- 
taining a license or a clergyman. They would 
then telegraph to the manager of the play in 
Pittsburg that she had married, and would not be 
back. That would give her understudy time to 
get into the part for that night. Then they 
would take the train for Sunbury, and begin 
their honeymoon with a tour to Niagara Falls. 
They worked out these plans admirably. The 
court house officials and the preacher were “de- 
lighted.” They ate their wedding luncheon on 
the Buffalo express. 

When the manager received the telegram, he 
took it to the lessee of the theatre. “Where’s a 


158 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


place in this State called Middleburg?” he 
blurted out. “One of our girls has run off and 
got married there ! ’ ’ 

The lessee looked at the address on the tel- 
egram carefully. “She was in the show last 
night, wasn’t she?” 

‘ ‘ She sure was ’ ’ replied the manager. 

“Then this telegram’s phony , she couldn’t 
have gotten there in one night from Pittsburg; 
there ’s no trains. ’ ’ 

“I don’t care about that, she’s gone and left 
us” said the manager frowning. 

“Oh forget it” said the lessee, “her ducking 
will give another girl a chance; she’s found a 
role which suits her better.” The manager 
walked away, muttering to himself the words of 
the old diplomatist in the “Merry Widow,” 
“Women, Women, Women.” But he sadly un- 
derestimated the psychic possibilities of the one 
who had flown. 


JX. 


A FRONTIERSMAN’S DIARY* 
(Story of Fort Horn, 1776.) 


ULY 4th. Great doings, a won- 
derful day. Fine, clear weath- 
er, with the river as blue as the 
sky above. We met this after- 
noon, at two o’clock, and 
signed ourselves free from the 
British tyrants. We, includes 
the three Clark brothers, 
Thomas, Francis and John, 
Alexander Donaldson, William Campbell, James 
Crawford, Alexander Hamilton, John Jackson, 
Jacob Pfouts, Adam Carson, Henry McCracken, 
Adam Dewitt, Robert Love, Simon Curts, Hugh 
Nichols of Nichols’ Run, Peter Pentz, Peter 
Grove, Robert Covenhoven, Samuel Horn, and I, 
Philip Quiggle. 

William Pine, a respectable young Indian, 
who married William McElhattan’s daughter, 

‘ 4 See Appendix A. ’ ’ 




© 


i/~v 


159 


160 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


wanted to sign, but we would not let him. These 
redmen have betrayed us on too many occasions. 
You could have heard the shout that went up 
when the last name was signed, clear to Monsey 
Town. 

We signed our names in the Clark family 
Bible, where Alex. Hamilton had drawn up the 
declaration. We had been working on this plan 
for at least two years. Those of us whose fathers 
came from Ireland hated the English crowd from 
the start, but it took the Ulster Scotch and the 
Dutch a full generation to see that what we al- 
ways preached was correct. Whenever we met on 
the war-path, or in the canoe, we haled one an- 
other with the cry “Let us cut loose. ’ ’ If a narrow- 
minded sympathizer of the British overheard us, 
and shouted “treason” we could answer that 
we meant the Indians. On this we were all 
agreed, it was the only thing that made us feel 
that the English were human like ourselves. But 
only a few of us had any real enthusiasm from 
the start. The Dutch would say “let well 
enough alone ;” the Scotch from Ireland would 
say “England has been a good friend of ours.” 
But we who came of the old-fashioned stock 
could only say “Let us cut loose from them.” 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


161 


When the dispatches were brought to us of the 
glorious movement in Philadelphia, we were be- 
side ourselves with joy. We had many doubts 
that the colonies would sign themselves free, 
there were too many of the landed aristocracy 
among the delegates, we couldn’t see how they 
could benefit by such a change. We were afraid 
at the last minute they would alter their minds 
and cringe before the crown. “Let us cut loose 
from them anyhow” said William Campbell. 
That word added to our old war-cry was enough 
to get us all together. Even the Dutchmen felt 
good over it. They hated all aristocrats, the 
idea of landed gentry representing them in 
Philadelphia galled them. “And not a Dutch- 
man in the crowd” they would mutter. 

“Old Adam Dewitt, a Low Dutchman from 
New Jersey, who had a big still-house across 
from the mouth of Tiadaghton, whose oldest son 
had been killed by an Indian in the British ser- 
vice, offered to supply the spirits. That made 
the gathering a reality. Everybody was a pa- 
triot now. We were all fair play men, even those 
of us who lived on this South bank of Susque- 


162 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


hanah, and were a bit jealous of the greater 
prosperity of those across the stream. 

As for me, I always for fair play; I left 
Cumberland County to escape the oppressions of 
the landed party. I am proud I have no parch- 
ment signed by any Penn for the land on which 
my home stands ; it is mine by right of conquest 
from the rightful owners, the Indians. Simon 
Curts, and Samuel Horn, my neighbors, feel 
the same. William McElhattan had a patent 
from the Penns, that was a black mark against 
him in my eyes. I would rather kill an Indian 
every year as rental than pay the Penns a farth- 
ing. All the boys across the river had Penn war- 
rants ; they looked dowm on me as a squatter and 
I in turn, on them. 

But when old Adam Dewitt, the Low Dutch- 
man, said he would send a batteau of sprits to 
the fort, we forgot our chains of title, in the com- 
mon cause of fair play. Injustice was going to 
be a dead issue west of Shamokin ; let those east 
keep it if they so desired. 

We could have had more at the gathering, 
had we given longer notice. There was some un- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


163 


certainty whether the Philadelphia delegates 
would take their action of July 4th. At first we 
had wanted to act on the same day. Then when 
we heard rumors of the indecision of some of 
the members we decided to hold our convention 
on the 4th of July, irrespective of them. Ours 
was an independent meeting, we did not care 
what others would do. 

On day before yesterday Peter Pentz and 
Peter Grove started up the river in canoes. Peter 
P. was to go up Bald Eagle to inform the settlers 
there, Peter G. to his old haunts on the Sinne- 
mahoning, on a similar errand. It was allotted 
to me to invite all who dwelt within the horseshoe 
on this side of the river, and to the south slope 
of Bald Eagle Mountains. Hugh Nichols was to 
invite those who dwelt on the broad flats across 
from us. Alex. Hamilton would go up Pine 
Creek, a few brave men lived there who were 
in sympathy with us. Adam Carson went down 
stream, as far as the long reach. 

I found my first disappointment quickly 
enough. My good friend William McElhattan 
declared he was too busy with his corn to join us. 
He said he believed we were right; he would 


164 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


send his Indian son-in-law, William Pine, or 
Choleesaw to sign. I feared Indian William 
would not be welcome, but I said nothing. My 
neighbors were very happy to be on hand. 

Simon Curts, veteran of High German wars, 
declared it was the proudest moment of his life 
in the New World. 

Samuel Horn, a German builder of the present 
fort, and arch-foe of Indians and English, had 
suggested that we meet within the friendly con- 
fines of his stockade, so he needed no invitation. 
So much of importance had happened within this 
enclosure of two acres, that it was fitting we re- 
nounce the foreign tyrants there. 

Israel Aughanbaugh from his stronghold at 
the far easterly tip of the horse-shoe, was glad 
to be on hand. Conrad Rosencranz from over on 
the Rock Oak mountain said he would be with us 
if he could. If the other committees had as good 
results, the gathering would be a great success 
numerically. We told everyone to come and 
bring their families, come good weather or bad. 
The real patriots, we knew, never minded rain 
or hail, it would only add to their enthusiasm. 
They were used to obstacles. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


165 


We have had an exceptional spell of good 
weather, ever since Whit-Monday, so we felt 
reasonably sure that July 4th would be fine. 
Sure enough no fairer day ever dawned than 
this. It was as if Providence smiled on our un- 
dertaking. There wasn’t one of us but who 
felt twice as determined to make a success of 
the undertaking, since the day began so fair. We 
told all to assemble after the dinner hour ; 
we hardly expected many before. Instead there 
were half a hundred men, and as many women 
and children within the stockade at high noon. 
A regular fleet of canoes and dugouts was out on 
the river at one time. One would have thought 
Fort Horn a seaport town like Belfast to see the 
line of craft moored under the shadow of Horn ’s 
hill. A lot of Indians were on hand as usual. 
They scented the spirits, they liked gossip and 
excitement, there was no keeping them away. 
Sam’l Horn ordered that no redman be allowed 
inside the stockade, except William Pine. This 
Indian having a white wife, formerly Yashti 
McElhattan, was exempt from the regulations. 
His old father Hyloshotkee was kept outside. He 
did some swearing, but nobody took it up. 


166 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


Pastor Laughlin came early. I tried to get 
him to promise to sign, but he shook his head, 
said the Crown had been mighty kind to his peo- 
ple in the old country. This I do not believe, 
they were not considerate to my folks at Kil- 
darry in Donegal, and why should they have 
been to his at Swatragh in Derry? When it be- 
came noised about that Pastor Laughlin disap- 
proved, I fancied he was coldly treated. If he had 
not been an expounder of the Word, he would have 
been driven out of the stockade to consort with 
the Indians and their dogs. We wanted no spies 
or traitors hanging about to mar a grand pa- 
triotic celebration. 

I do not know who wrote the actual words of 
this Declaration of Independence. Some say 
Alex. Hamilton was the author, hut it was in 
Thomas Clark’s handwriting, in the Clark Bible. 
It was kept carefully guarded until Hamilton 
called us to order at two o’clock. There were 
two hundred souls within the palisade, the big- 
gest assemblage ever held in the Valley of the 
Otzinachson. Outside were half as many In- 
dians and their families. Some of the young 
bucks climbed into the tops of pine trees so they 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


167 


could look into the stockade, and see what we 
were doing. 

Hamilton’s speech was very good; it seemed 
we cheered him every time he closed a sentence. 
He gave it to the Crown, and all the aristocratic 
crowd in the colonies who favored it. By this 
time even Pastor Laughlin felt enthusiastic, and 
offered to say a prayer. We had not asked him 
to do so before as we feared he might say some 
unkind words about our project. He prayed ten 
minutes, and asked Goodness to smile on us. He 
paid us many a fine compliment, which as lovers 
of fair play, I do believe we deserved. 

Then Alex. Hamilton spoke again. He said 
in Philadelphia at this very moment a declara- 
tion similar to ours might be in process of sign- 
ing; he hoped so; if not, ours would blaze the 
w r ay for freedom. He said we are the real peo- 
ple; the aristocrats are mere parasites on our 
ideas and our prosperity. 

He called on Thomas Clark to bring forth the 
Bible. He held it close up, his eyesight is very 
poor, and read the brave words of our declara- 
tion. There was a wonderful lot of cheering; 
one old man, Mike Snook, shot off his rifle, al- 


168 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


most hitting an Indian boy in a tree. Then Alex, 
asked those who wished to sign to step forward. 
He laid the open book on an oak stump, so it 
could be read and signed easily. Yashti Pine had 
made some fresh ink from oakballs, it was black 
and clear. She also furnished some nice quills 
made from the feathers of an eagle her husband 
had shot the day before. She looked prettier and 
happier than she ever did in my memory. “Wish 
I was a man so I could sign” she said when she 
handed me the quill for my signature. 

We all signed that could, all but Pastor Laugh- 
lin. Alex. Hamilton gave him the quill, but af- 
ter making a flourish, he backed away saying ‘ ‘ I 
cannot show my ingratitude to the Crown.” 

Peter Pentz said he was mad enough to have 
knifed the old hypocrite. Just when Peter P. 
was signing his name a golden eagle was seen 
soaring high above the stockade. One of Augh- 
anbaugh ’s boys was for shooting at him, but 
we all called him to put up his rifle. We signed 
the Declaration of Independence with eagle’s 
quills, we could not kill the bird just then. The 
eagle is surely the bird of freedom. When the 
last name was signed there was a terrible shout 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


169 


of joy from all, old and young. The Indians out- 
side the fence took it up, yelling “Jo-hoh, Jo- 
hoh, Jo-hoh.” The old hunters embraced one 
another, and Sam’l Horn danced a German jig. 
Robert Love got out his pipes, and played music, 
I do not know whether it was Irish or Scotch. 
There was an uproar for half an hour at least. 

Old Adam Dewitt said it was about time to 
sample the spirits, for all hands to come into the 
fort, “to liquor up,” as he styled it. There was 
a rush to be sure. The Indians in the trees 
moaned with jealousy. Pastor Laughlin went 
inside, and took a jorum, even if he hadn’t 
signed. We let William Pine get pretty full, 
until he began to say he wanted to fight the Eng- 
lish. “If anybody English is here to-day he 
dies on the spot” he kept repeating. There 
were none among us of English blood so there 
were no lives in jeopardy. We should have 
found a Britisher to offer up as a bloody sacri- 
fice to this grand historic occasion. I believe the 
colonies are going to win their rights to be free. 
If they are not, we borderers must know why. 
It would not take much for me to fight, even 
though I am a family man. If I go down to my 


170 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


old home in Cumberland County in the fall I 
will study the situation ; if we must fight, I will 
gladly volunteer. 

It was sundown when some of the brave lads 
started for their homes. Pastor Laughlin, con- 
siderably befuddled, had to be helped into his 
pirogue. There was more handshaking, more 
cheering, more dancing before we could decide 
to part. We believe we have done something that 
will help the cause of fair play, of human liberty. 

Only a few of the most enthusiastic remained, 
and the discussion came up as to the disposition 
of the book, with its precious declaration. Alex. 
Hamilton said it should be kept by the Clark 
brothers, as they owned it, but they feared to 
accept the responsibility. Old Adam Dewitt, the 
Low Dutchman, listened during most of the talk ; 
he looked as if he was thinking deeply. 

Brothers” he said, when everybody was quiet, 
“I have an old copper box at home, which my 
grandfather brought from Rotterdam. It has 
three locks; it is over a hundred years old now, 
it will last a thousand more. I suggest that we 
put our Declaration of Independence in this box, 
and bury it in the centre of this stockade. We 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


171 


can do it tomorrow morning, in the presence of 
those of us who have remained here to-night. * ’ 

“Very good, very good” answered Alex. Ham- 
ilton. “But let us bury it to-night, it is a good 
two hours until dark, and we have full moon.” 

“Very well, 111 get the box” said the Low 
Dutchman, and he hobbled out of the palisade, 
and went down the steep bank to a canoe. He 
was back within an hour, during which time 
some of those who remained became more than 
necessarily hilarious. 

Sam’l Horn got out his old German pick-axe 
and spade, and he and I dug the pit. It was in 
the exact centre of the stockade, on the top of 
Horn’s hill. Alex. Hamilton placed the precious 
Bible in the box. He locked its three locks, keep- 
ing one key himself and giving the others to 
Thomas Clark and Dewitt. In this way the 
box could not be lawfully opened unless these 
three men or their heirs were present. 

I lowered the box into the pit, and Horn and 
myself threw the rocks and earth on top. We 
carefully sodded the spot; one could hardly tell 
there had been any digging. “My cows will 
make it look all right, they’ll trample it smooth 


172 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


by morning’ ’ said Horn. Alex. Hamilton spoke 
a few words when *we had finished, of a patriotic 
nature, and asked us to join him in a prayer. 
He never used such fine speech before, it was a 
prayer to liberty. My memory is not as good as 
it might be, but I think I can reproduce what he 
said, only in not such good language. We were 
standing about in a circle, and when he began 
we all took off our caps. The light of the full 
moon was streaming down upon us, it seemed a 
happy token. 

“Providence,” the prayer began, “that has 
given us this beautiful mountain home, perfect 
in every way, except for the baleful hand of the 
tyrant reaching over us, grant that after to-day, 
its shadow will quickly recede. We are truly 
grateful for the chance Thou hast given us, one 
and all, and we do not wish to seem presumpt- 
uous to ask for more. To keep what we have, 
and in a way that we can do the most for the 
Great Giver we need absolute liberty, fair 
play. We have taken steps to secure it. We 
promise from to-day we will never abuse our 
freedom. We will send it down to our descend- 
ants growing stronger with the years. We ask 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


173 


Thy blessing to-night as free men, workers for 
human betterment. Amen. ’ ’ 

Without much leave taking, we silently dis- 
persed in different directions. As I walked 
homeward along the river bluff I could hear the 
slap of paddles of the canoes through the still 
night air. As I neared my garden gate a lone 
wolf began his lamentations far up near the 
summit of the Round Top. 



THE ESCAPE. 


(Story of Fisher’s Ferry.) 


LACK Jack Swartz, the “wild 
hunter of the Juniata” was 
one of the most picturesque 
figures in the pioneer history 
of Central Pennsylvania. His 
name will live in Jack’s Moun- 
tains, which were named for 
him. In these vast, rugged 
heights he ranged in all his 
glory, the foe of Indian and wild beast. But very 
little is definitely known concerning his per- 
sonality and antecedents. He has been character- 
ized as cruel and revengeful. He has been de- 
scribed as of Indian, Negro and German descent. 
While it is true that his skin was extremely dark, 
he contained no Negro nor Indian blood. 

All of the Pennsylvania German frontiersmen 
were of swarthy complexion, Conrad Weiser, 
174 



SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


175 


Lewis Wetzel, James Yager, Michael Hite, Peter 
Pentz, Peter Grove, James Hambright and Dan- 
iel Poh were blacker than most Indians. Daniel 
Boone of English and French ancestry was of 
light complexion, but the Germans of the wilder- 
ness were invariably dark. From reliable sources 
it would seem that Black Jack was the son of a 
Spanish sea-captain, who sailed to the port of 
Philadelphia, and his mother a German lodging- 
house keeper’s daughter. Later the girl married 
a man of her own race named Swartz, and the 
baby Jacob, then two or three years of age, was 
given his step-father’s name. 

Swartz, the elder, was an adventurous man 
and moved “up country” to the vicinity of 
Harris’ Ferry on the Susquehanna. Here Black 
Jack grew up, right on the border of the hostile 
Indian country. He was a kindly, law abiding 
youth at first. He eventually married a neigh- 
bor’s daughter, a girl of Irish stock, and moved 
with her to his hunting-camp in the wilds. 

It was while absent on a hunting trip that 
Black Jack had his first unfriendly encounter 
with the redmen. He was captured and cruelly 
tortured. Though he returned to his people, he 


176 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


became the relentless foe of the Indians. It 
was for this reason, and not alone because of 
the subsequent murder of his wife and children, 
that made him the most bloodthirsty foe the In- 
dians possessed. 

After his return from being tortured Black 
Jack would never go in swimming in the pres- 
ence of any of his old friends. They soon 
guessed that he had been horribly mutilated, to 
be more exact, flayed from the shoulders to the 
waist. 

Black Jack learned to be wily merely by bit- 
ter experience. He did not have, in the begin- 
ning of his career, the perspicacity of most back- 
woodsmen. He would often, while on his hunt- 
ing expeditions, spend nights in frendly Indian 
camps. He was well treated, and never guessed 
at treachery. His dark hair and eyes made him 
fancy that the Indians imagined him to possess 
their blood; he made no denial when they men- 
tioned the subject to him. Each trip he took, 
in these young trustful days, made him bolder, 
less mindful of his own safety. He might have 
become a white ally of the Indians like Simon 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


177 


Girty had the savages been wise enough to adopt 
him. 

During this time while he was traveling about 
unmolested, a merciless warfare was going on 
between the Indians and the Scotch-Irish on the 
borders. Many white men were murdered or 
tortured; it seemed peculiar that Black Jack 
should remain immune. 

One night he met a couple of Indians, he de- 
clared they were Mingoes, on a trail which led 
to a popular campground on a bluff overlooking 
the “big river” at what is now Fisher’s Ferry. 
The Indians were particularly gracious; he had 
met them before, everything seemed all right. 

It was on a stuffy, moonless night in August ; 
Black Jack, man of woods that he was, felt lone- 
ly. He liked to spend nights in the Indians’ 
camps, to swap hunting stories, as he knew their 
dialects, to join in their weird songs. When he 
reached the cliff and where there was an open- 
ing in the deep forest, he saw about twenty 
braves, under an old chief named Yellow Prongs, 
seated in a semi-circle about the fire, roasting 
Heath-Hens, birds now extinct in Pennsylvania, 
but once very plentiful. When they sat in a full 


178 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


circle it denoted peace ; in a semi-circle meant that 
they were on the war-path. But this did not make 
Black Jack suspicious; he imagined he was 
above the feuds between the two races. He was 
cordially welcomed by the old chief, who handed 
him his calumet or peace-pipe. He lay down his 
rifle and sat among the savages. Just as he 
started to take a good puff at the fragrant to- 
bacco, he was seized from behind, and a gag 
slipped into his mouth. Unable to cry out, and 
overcome by superior numbers, he was thrown 
on his back, and bound hand and foot. He had 
always thought he could hold his own in a strug- 
gle with a dozen Indians, hut he was no match 
against an attack from the rear. While he lay 
on the grass, helpless he could see the Indians 
holding a council of war. 

The chief was pointing to a large dead yellow 
pine which stood on the brink of the cliff. The 
bark had been worked off by beetles, in the fire- 
light it loomed up like some huge silvery ghost. 
The Indians soon approached their victim, and 
dragged him along in the direction of the dead 
tree. When they got him there, they pushed 
him to his feet, leaning him against the bare 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


179 


trunk. Then they procured stout leather thongs, 
and bound him to it. Then they cut off all his 
clothing. He knew he was to be tortured almost 
to death, and finally burned ‘ ‘ at the stake. ’ ’ He 
had heard of this horrible fate being meted out 
to the white men, but never dreamed it would 
befall him. The gag was taken out of his mouth, 
and he was asked if he had anything to say be- 
fore his punishments began. He expressed sur- 
prise that he of all white men should be selected 
for such foul treachery, that he had befriended 
and saved the lives of many Indians in the past. 
Apart from the injustice of it all, he had no ob- 
jections to what they intended doing; he was 
brave, they could invent no torture that would 
make him cry out. At this the Indians laughed. 
They nudged one another’s lean sides as much 
as to say that they had never seen a white man 
who could remain silent through their entire pro- 
gram. The first step on this occasion was to 
heat a gun barrel and burn the victim on various 
parts of his body. Black Jack only laughed; 
“You are babies in the art of torturing” he 
bawled out. Then the old chief ordered that he 
be skinned alive. Narrow strips were torn from 


180 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


his shoulders clear to his waist line. All through 
this agony the “wild hunter” continued laugh- 
ing. The gun barrel was heated again, and the 
raw flesh sered in many places. In doing this 
the thongs which bound him to the tree were 
weakened. Black Jack evolved a desperate plan. 
Amid his laughter he called out to the old chief : 
“Yellow Prongs, give me that red-hot gun bar- 
rel, I can torture myself better than you know 
how, let me show you.” The entire affair had 
been a failure thus far, as not a single cry of 
pain had escaped the victim ’s lips. 

The old chief was in a frame of mind to do 
anything to make the torture more acute. He 
ordered his torturer to hand Black Jack the sizz- 
ling gun barrel. The moment he got it in his 
strong grasp, he struck the torturer over the 
head with it, knocking him down. Then he 
threw the entire weight of his body against the 
weakened thongs; they gave way. With a leap 
he ran to the edge of the cliff, and sprang off it. 
It was a hundred feet to the river below. The 
startled Indians ran after him, but not one dared 
to leap off the bluff. All of them, even the old 
chief, started to climb down the steep ledges, 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


181 


tripping and sprawling in their anxious haste. 
When they came to the water’s edge they made 
out the head of a dark object swimming in the 
deep, gloomy current. They shot at it a dozen 
times and at last heard a weird cry of pain. 
“Ah,” cried old chief Yellow Prongs, “at last 
we’ve made Black Jack howl.” He ordered his 
followers to swim after the man, as they had un- 
doubtedly wounded him. 

Half a dozen young bucks sprang into the 
water, and headed for mid-stream with energetic 
strokes. They could detect a dark object ; it was 
dead, or dying, as it made no effort to get away 
from them. Nearer and nearer they came to it. 
The old chief on shore, was howling with delight. 
When they were beside it, the Indians gave a 
yell of disgust. They had shot a big white-faced 
seal. It was gasping its last as they lay hold of 
it. One of the swimmers returned to the chief 
to tell him the sad news. The others wisely pur- 
sued their way to the opposite bank. 

No trace of the missing hunter was to be 
found. It was too dark to locate any footprints 
on the soft mud along the banks. Afraid to go 
back, the pursuers rushed out aimlessly through 


182 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


the forest. After running four or five miles 
they became discouraged. The thought flashed 
through their minds that perhaps Black Jack 
had struck his head on a submerged rock when 
he leaped from the cliff, and was drowned. 
Maybe now his dead body was floating down 
stream. Perhaps the big seal had been disturbed 
by a corpse floating near his nest by the shore. 
Perplexed and exhausted, the Indians sank down 
on the ground, and like children commenced 
weeping. 

Black Jack, whose knowledge of the woods and 
rivers told him that there was a deep hole at the 
bottom of the bluff, had no hesitation about the 
leap. He struck in twenty feet of water, went 
down, came up again, began swimming. The 
water was cooling to his burning, blistering 
body. He was so refreshed by the swim that 
he felt renewed energy to continue his way when 
he reached the opposite bank. He was across 
the river bfore the first Indian had gotten down 
the cliff. On the opposite bank he had stepped 
on the seal, which with a grunt had dragged 
itself back to the river. It served as an excellent 
foil, for while the Indians were shooting at it in 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


183 


mid-stream, he was putting miles between him- 
self and his pursuers. 

All the time he had kept hold of the gun 
barrel. He might need some weapon of defense 
later on. It was lucky that he had been burned 
after the flaying, as it provided a covering like 
a huge scab over his raw flesh. But though his 
sufferings were intense, he made no murmur. 

He ran through the forest in a direction oppo- 
site to his hunting shack by the Juniata. He 
knew that would be the way that his foes would 
go after him. Almost at day-break he came to a 
stream of water, where beavers had built a dam 
of considerable proportions. On some high 
ground above this pond he saw nine Indians 
asleep around a burned-out campfire. Wrapped 
in their blankets of red and blue, as the night 
had been damp, he could not make out their sex 
at first glance. Going closer, he stealthily lifted 
the blanket from first one Indian, then another, 
braining them with his gun-barrel. To his dis- 
may he found one to be a beautiful young 
squaw. His chivalrous nature would not let him 
kill her, but he feared to let her live, as she 
would tell on him. He dropped the blanket back 


184 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


over her face, resolved to run the risk. She 
might sleep until he had killed his last redman. 
Unfortunately she awoke with a start, sitting 
bolt upright, as he crushed the skull of the eighth 
savage. She immediately sank back in a swoon, 
more at the uncouth, horrible appearance of the 
scarred, naked murderer, than at the frightful 
carnage about her. 

His awful task finished, Black Jack seized 
what provisions he needed, threw a blanket over 
his burning shoulders, and continued his way. 
He hid for several days in the Penn’s Creek 
country, living sparingly, while his wounds 
burned themselves back to convalescence. It was 
a period of fiendish suffering, but no stoic could 
have been more calm. At times he regretted the 
murder of the Indian camp, but he consoled him- 
self by feeling that he had been so crazed by 
pain and the thought of the Indians’ treachery, 
that he was not his true self. 

In a few days he was restored mentally, and 
this helped his physical condition. But he only 
returned to his headquarters by easy stages. 
The whole affair woud be a thing of the past 
by the time he got back. Titanic disasters are 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


185 


forgotten to-day. Indian reprisals lapsed into 
nothingness in the old days. After nightfall he 
crept into his cabin, and felt at ease to be amid 
familiar surroundings once more. 

He put on his best suit of buckskin, and apart 
from his disfigurement, felt as well as ever. He 
was thankful that his face was un-marred; he 
could cover the rest. But he always heard that 
Chief Yellow Prongs never forgot his escape, and 
the attendant humiliation. It should have made 
him fearful to leave his wife and children at 
home, for within a short time after his leap, he 
took the plunge into happy matrimony. But 
living as he did, near to other settlers, where no 
Indians were seen, he imagined his household 
safe. 

One cold night, when he came back from a 
hunting trip, he discovered his cabin door 
standing open. He scented trouble, and rushed 
in. On the earthen floor lay his wife, dead 
and scalped. The three children had also been 
tomahawked, and all, down to a three months * 
old infant in its cradle, scalped. On the mantel 
was a slip of paper torn from a Bible on 
which was written “Yellow Prongs . ” Then 


186 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


and there the outraged pioneer vowed a deeper 
oath of hatred and vengeance against the 
Indians. He killed them for the wanton lust 
of slaughter, though he always spared the 
women and children. It was his hope that he 
might some day wear the grey scalp of old 
Yellow Prongs at his belt, but fate denied him 
this. The old warrior, worn out from forced 
marches and fear, lay down and died, and was 
buried somewhere near the headwaters of Sha- 
mokin Creek. “I’d tear him out of his grave if 
I knew where it was” roared Black Jack, when 
he heard that his enemy was dead. 

The Indians feared the “wild hunter ”as they 
did no one else; they said he was a witch, and 
had a charmed life. “Hasn’t he the Evil One 
with him” was remarked around many a camp- 
fire, “when he could have that seal look just 
like him for a few minutes, while he was making 
his escape?” 


XI. 


THE WATER WITCH. 

(Story of Rattlesnake Run.) 

F course you have all heard of 
the Water Witch” said the an- 
tiquarian. “If you have not 
known her in the Pennsyl- 
vania mountains, you have 
come across her in all the lit- 
eratures of Europe.” 

“Few in the party had 
heard of the water witch of 
Pennsylvania, none had seen her. A few had 
read of her ancestral type in the literature of 
foreign lands. “I have seen her” continued the 
antiquarian, “and only a few weeks ago, but 
whether she was a dream or a reality I cannot 
say. Even a dream can be true, it is merely 
something seen by the spiritual self. The water 
witch, being the symbol of something ever flow- 
ing, travelling, knows exactly the destiny of man. 

187 



188 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


On rare occasions she will reveal the sad story, 
but in a way which shows her to be completely 
out of sympathy with humanity. 

They say, that is the old mountaineers, that 
the water witch was an Indian girl who sud- 
denly changed her mind towards her lover. Hav- 
ing influence with the Gods, the deserted one 
had her made into unchanging water ; and 
in her helpless state, she mocks the petty as- 
pirations of mankind. Womanlike she feels no 
remorse, and probably longs for a chance to re- 
peat her mischief. 

Once a stream in Brush Valley which was 
loved by the Rain Deity, changed her mind and 
sought to elude him by running underground. 
She was never allowed to come up again, and you 
can hear her mournful wail in her gloomy caverns 
at all seasons of the year. It is on the Bierly prop- 
erty, Southwest of Rebersburg. The water witch 
is not altogether unhappy, because she has the 
power to assume human form; she can come in 
contact with man, though she is too cold to be 
loved by him. But endless existence is the 
greatest pain; her case is an object lesson to 
those hungering for immortality. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


189 


Last autumn, having invited several friends 
as guests, I started on a hunting trip to the 
headwaters of Rattlesnake Run. While the 
weather was fine we would stalk the deer on the 
wild uplands, if there came a “tracking” snow, 
we would turn our quest into a bear hunt. Since 
the cowardly practice of trapping bears was pro- 
hibited by law, bruin had become fairly numer- 
ous again. Given equal chances, the bear could 
fight his way with his enemies, it is the sport roy- 
al of the Pennsylvania mountains. I started away 
in deep dejection. Such a beautiful vision had 
crossed my path but two days before, in such 
a way that it seemed hopeless to ever see her 
again. And yet I kept saying over and over 
again as the train swept along through the 
brown, sombre valley of the Susquehanna, ‘Oh, 
God, after so many disappointments, please 
don’t let her escape me.’ And yet I knew that 
God has given us the freedom of the will to be- 
come the captains or the slaves of our souls. I 
was not in the frame of mind to fraternize with 
the jollities of a hunting camp. 

All were in good humor at the camp; I felt 
strangely alone. That is always the case when 


190 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


one has seen someone who could forever destroy 
that sense of spiritual isolation, but who is lost 
to us. We feel horribly out of harmony with 
the world and its ways. The next morning, at 
daybreak, the gay hunters started off in pairs, 
it was more sociable. They would ramble for 
miles together among the ferns, cook their 
lunches together by some rattling brook, stalk 
the nimble stags in company. I elected to go 
alone. Perhaps I felt I was to meet a mystic 
someone in the wilderness. 

It was a cold morning, so much so that the sun 
seemed loathe to shine. I did not remain long in 
one place. I heard deer in the distance breaking 
through the underbrush, but sighted none. I 
grew hungry early and ate my lunch. While I 
sat on a moss-wrapped pine log a nut-hatch flew 
into a birch tree near to me. The nimble little 
bird watched me with her eager dark eyes. She 
seemed to wonder why some persons armed with 
guns would shoot at her, and not like me, let 
her go about her business. 

A little later I met three grouse, while I was 
strolling down the ravine. They ran from me 
like leisurely mother hens in a public road. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


191 


They seemed to divine I was out after bigger 
game. I was a seeker after the quarry of the 
spirit. Now and then when I climbed to the top 
of some ridge I would obtain wonderful views of 
the surrounding country. It was miles of pur- 
ple brown mountains, stretching in every direc- 
tion, their level rows occasionally broken by tall 
pinnacles or knobs. It was like a stormy sea, as 
seen from the deck of an ocean liner. I came 
upon three big does grazing on some late grasses 
near a spring. They made no effort to depart 
after eyeing me once or twice. I was in complete 
harmony this day with wild nature. 

I saw a raven perched on a dead pine. He 
eyed me with the curiosity of the governor of 
some club, but let me pass. In the early after- 
noon the sun gained its ascendency, a yellow, 
bloodless sun, it seemed. But it fought its way, 
opening the heavens to civilization. Soon the 
defeated clouds raised to infinite heights, re- 
vealing the blue dome. At its apex a hawk was 
sailing. 

I came to a spot noted by huntsmen as the 
‘play-ground.’ It was a favorite haunt for the 
deer, and justly so. Consisting as it did of an 


192 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


abandoned clearing, fenced in by mammoth up- 
rooted white pine stumps, it was an ideal sport- 
ing ground for the nimble creatures as well as an 
excellent hiding place for nimrods. I surprised 
four does there, frisking about like overgrown 
babies. They circled the field several times, but 
came back to where I had first found them. 
There were a few wheat sprouts coming up, mak- 
ing tender pickings. Not being anxious to slay 
anything, I did not hide myself in the blind 
which other hunters had made behind the pine 
stumps. 

The sun had assumed a deeper tint of gold, it 
sent some rays of warmth to the slab-like rocks 
on the hillsides which sloped from the play- 
ground down to the headwaters of Rattlesnake 
Run. I sat down on one of these flat stones, and 
began watching a solitary original white pine of 
enormous size on the opposite ridge. A good 
deal of evergreen timber still stood on that ridge, 
but the old white pine towered above them all. 
It was dying at the top, this remnant of the 
golden age of forestry. It had one branch much 
longer and thicker than any of the rest, which 
seemed to be always pointing its menacing 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


193 


feathery tips at the younger trees, with envy, 
scorn. The wind sighed through the trees in 
regular cantatas, sometimes in minor, other 
times in major tone. The Infinite Musician 
seemed to have selected this as his practice day. 
At times it seemed as if the long armlike branch 
of the pine was a conductor’s baton leading the 
sylvan orchestra. Down in the ravine the stream 
was rushing onward, making mournful music. 
It seemed to be a hateful task to run so fast 
over cold stones. The sun did not penetrate 
down there. The leafless aspens and birches 
looked wintry contrasted to the sun-kissed pines 
and hemlocks on the mountain top. A grey cloud 
descended behind the dying pine, giving it a 
sombre background in contrast to its sun-illum- 
inated fellows. Now the gaunt finger, or baton 
waved more threateningly, the music became 
more wierd, more in keeping with the dismal roll 
of the creek. There was something sad but sooth- 
ing in Nature’s harmonies. I lay out at full 
length on the smooth rocks. With one eye closed, 
the other open, I watched the giant, decaying 
pine conduct his lively young orchestra. Some- 
times the wood-wind rose above the creek music 


194 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


but was at other times drowned by the melan- 
choly torrent’s roar. 

Once I shut both eyes, I was translated to a 
land of warmth and sunshine. The giant pine, 
one of many such, was part and parcel of a 
happy chorus of praise. The stream laughed its 
way down the dark glen, it was glad to be on its 
way, yet there were notes of lingering sadness. 
Instead of attenuated deer, in an open field elk 
and moose browsed on tender leaf buds in a 
primeval tangle of monster trees. But the music 
of the trees, of the creek, were so sweet, why 
were they not always thus? I could see the 
stream distinctly below me, it ran in and out 
among giant hemlocks and beeches, over mossy 
rocks, it was moving in better society. There was 
one place where the water, probably from hitting 
some sharp stones, was ever sending up tufts of 
spray. At times it would gurgle itself into a 
mound of water, very much like an old fashioned 
Bethesda. 

And as I dreamed, the fountain increased in 
volume, in sparkle, in brilliancy. It transcended 
the banks of the stream, it came rolling, swirling, 
swishing up the hillside; it was the swish of a 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


195 


woman ’s skirts. As it drew near to me it took on 
human form, the very outlines of the beautiful 
being whom I had seen hut two days before, 
and who seemed lost to me. But absent were the 
soft brown locks, the deep blue eyes, into whose 
depths one could look for a thousand years into 
the shadowy times when beauty and God were 
one. There was the same serious, pouting mouth, 
it was the mouth of other women I had loved. 
The nose, retrousse at the tip, hut with good 
bridge, was just as fascinating in the uncertain 
lines of sparkling water. Was this the fair 
image ? I must speak to her, and find out. 

‘ I am well aware, ’ I began, ‘that you are not so 
many hundreds of miles away, but how came you 
here in form of water, is it that your soul being 
pure crystal, you came thus?’ I heard a mock- 
ing laugh, it was not the serious tone of the rare 
being, was it the swaying pine-music, or the loll 
of a distant waterfall? No, it came from the 
shadowy figure before me ; I was shocked. When 
the strange laugh subsided, she spoke out boldly. 
‘I am not she whom your heart, long-suffering, 
adores, I have the power to take on the image of 
each man’s best beloved. I am your thought of 


196 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


your love this moment, but am not her in soul 
or substance . 9 

‘Then you are the Water Witch’ I cried out. 

‘Call me what you will, and no matter what 
my sad history’ she answered, now speaking in 
gentler tones, like the trickle of a baby brook, 
‘I am come on an errand of cheer, to tell of fu- 
ture joy, of a wonderful career in store for you. 
Joy will be attained by all men at some time; 
usefulness by only a few, you will be one of the 
favored. In that helpful life love will find a 
corner ; you will see your love again and all will 
be well between you. I took her form to 
strengthen your hope. Be of good spirit, glor- 
ious, industrious days are before you.’ 

Comforted as I had never been before, I 
looked at the fair face of the witch. Surely she 
had some insight of the universal Plan, and 
where my humble part lay therein. Why had 
she come to tell me all these things, I who had 
never harmed her, but who had passionately 
loved nature, of which she was a part, unless 
she meant to encourage me. Many times life, 
and my place in it, had risen before me like a 
ghost of discouragement; it was high time to 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


197 


hear a promise of future betterment. I was 
strangely unconvinced of her past record, that 
early deception that had made her the water 
witch. 

‘ I can never begin to tell you how much I owe 
you for coming to me this afternoon, just when 
I needed you most. Henceforth I will live on a 
broader plane, exist on a bigger scale. I will 
work harder than ever to make myself worthy of 
my destiny. I will feel that love is not so very 
far away, it will gild even the most disagreeable 
tasks with sunlight of smiles. I must forever 
thank you for coming in the form of her who has 
won my heart.’ 

I probably rambled on more, as I am very ap- 
preciative by nature, and when people do any- 
thing nice for me, I thank them too much, and 
repay them too liberally. I noticed that the 
Water Witch said no more, her liquid lips tried 
to part in a smile, but I heard naught but the 
distant wood-wind on the ridge. Above it now 
rose the roar of the stream, perhaps as a signal 
to the water woman to return to her own. The 
all-embracing torrent was jealous of her absence. 
Suddenly the fountain head dissolved, and 


198 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


flowed down the hill like a mountain rivulet, 
dancing and leaping over the smooth rocks. 
When it was gone, the rocks were perfectly dry, 
I could not save a drop of this divine essence. 

I reached out one of my arms; my hand 
touched one of the cold slabs, I awoke. The sun 
was just about sinking behind the timber line 
beyond the play-ground. I rose up, there were 
four does grazing among the sprouts; at the 
edge of the woods stood a large wide-antlered 
stag, gazing at me with inquiring eyes. The 
forest cantata on the opposite ridge had ceased ; 
the wind had fallen with the declining sun. I 
felt a wild exaltation; I wished for the speedy 
realization of the joys promised in my vision. 
As I recovered full consciousness the roar of the 
run down in the aspen-grown ravine echoed 
louder in my ears. Its rush and rumble seemed 
to follow regular beats, to be almost articulate. 

In my moment of mental alertness I listened, 
trying to catch some comforting word. At last 
I seemed to hear these words: 'I am the water 
witch, I am at eternal variance with mankind, 
even with you; I only visited you in your sleep 
this afternoon to mock you. I know your fu- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


199 


ture, every day of it, down to the smallest 
crushed hope. You will never see that fair 
image again, and if you did, only as strangers. 
You are cast to play a small part in life’s drama, 
your striving will be impotent, footless. Phys- 
ically you do not live up to your soul. Like my 
spirit, your name will be written in water. Oh, 
how I fooled you, how I gave you a taste of a 
world that can never be yours, your soul must 
always remain a prisoner.’ And from there the 
voice broke off into a wild weird laugh, cold as 
the stones over which her liquid lips were run- 
ning. I stood the laugh as long as I could; I 
was for answering, and asking the water woman 
why she added to my load of sorrows. Then I 
reflected that it would be better to know my 
limitations now, than to have them thrust upon 
me by painful experiences. Ever alone, ever a 
bit discouraged, I must go my way. 

The sun had sunk behind the timber line. 
The afterglow gave a sepulcral yellowness to 
mountains, trees, and rocks. There was a frost 
exuding from the hard, stiff clods of the clear- 
ing. I tucked my rifle under my arm, and 
started towards the camp. The dusk, grey and 


200 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


like a pall, was closing in on me fast. As I came 
to a bend in the trail my downcast eyes raised 
for a moment, I peered into the forest gloom. 
Back amid the brushwood I thought I saw the 
Water Witch, in all the glory of the form of the 
fair being whom I adored. And despite my lim- 
itations, I could not prevent hope from a resur- 
rection.” 



XII. 


THE LONELY GHOST. 

(Story of Shamokin Mountain.) 

HERE the bold height of Sha- 
mokin Mountain comes to an 
abrupt end at the river and 
the railway, there is a narrow 
carriage road which winds its 
way along the foot of the 
ridge, in the direction of 
Irish Valley. The mountain 
being of shale formation, the 
little lane is of the same material, and easy trav- 
eling for horses and pedestrians. 

On the side of the mountain road only a few 
stunted Jack pines remain; on the side which 
slopes down to the culm-blackened waters of 
Mahanoy Creek, are numerous red birches and 
a few ancient white-oaks. 

Close to the roadside is a jungle of grape-vines, 
wild honeysuckles, and Solomon’s Seal. A few 

201 




202 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


screech owls haunt the solitary dell, there is a 
grey fox or two still on the mountain, but it is a 
region singularly barren of wild life. A mile 
from the river must be traversed before the first 
house or rather ruin is met with. It was, prob- 
ably thirty years ago, the home of coal-burners. 
Charcoal iron losing its vogue, and the cutting of 
all the available trees, sent the former followers 
of this humble calling to other localities. To-day 
the ruin is complete. The roof of split shingles 
has fallen in, a huge grape-vine which covered 
the well-box has trailed all over the house; it 
looks like some beast subjugated by a serpent. 
The front fence fell down years ago, but someone 
strung a single strand of now rusty barbed-wire 
“to keep out the cattle” — but from what? The 
yard is overgrown with burr-docks, pokes, beg- 
gars’ lice, and stag-horn sumac. 

In the rear of the house lusty young Jack pines 
are crowding close upon the structure. The stone 
chimney, partly broken when the roof collapsed, 
houses several families of swifts. These grace- 
ful, eerie birds are most at evidence in the late 
afternoons, when their circling gives the old ruin 
a semblance of life. The cellars, and the dilapi- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


203 


dated out-buildings are paradises for certain 
species of rats and mice, bringing the screech 
owls on the scene, when dusk prevails. After a 
successful hunt they sit blinking and bulging- 
eyed on the old mulberry tree above the well. 
When luck is not good they retire to the oaks 
and birches along the creek, and sing their lay of 
blasted hopes. The night wind flaps the broad 
grape leaves, a ground hog owning comfortable 
quarters beneath the old out-kitchen sallies forth, 
burrowing among the half dead plants and 
w^eeds in the yard. 

Out of an up-stairs room, under the gaping 
roof, comes an assemblage of particles of spirit, 
the lonely ghost. Peering first up at the sky, for 
rain might scatter his particles, or too much 
moonlight evaporate them, and finding a clear 
dark night, or one with weird clouds racing 
across the moon, he emerges. Unable to grasp 
what death meant, or how to make himself a 
more vital shade, or how to be annihilated al- 
together, are some of the burdens of his lament. 
Tortured with memories of myriad things left 
undone, of wrongs left un-righted, without the 
power to help, his plight is a pitiable one. Lonely 


204 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


in every particle, not having held converse with 
a human being or brother-shade in a quarter of 
a century, no wonder he sometimes vies with 
the screech-owls, and the night-wind, in inco- 
herent whining. 

Frightening almost out of their wits the few 
living persons who passed by his isolated haunt 
at night, he could not tell them how lonely he 
was, or ask for help. Whenever the thought 
came to him to pursue people up the road, he 
would realize it would take him out of his en- 
vironment, he must suffer annihilation. 

Delightful though the state of nothingness 
might seem, yet something was in his ghostly 
soul, that he must tell, before he could invite 
the void. Was it just the story of how lonely he 
felt, or how unsatisfactory death was, or was it 
the tale of wrong uppermost in his mind on his 
death-bed? He was not quite clear as to this — 
maybe if he met the person who would listen, it 
would come to him. 

What had his life’s story been, had he done 
anything so wrong, that he became an unhappy 
ghost? Was there any proof that a life of good- 
ness means annihilation, and uprighteousness a 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


205 


life beyond the grave? Was it not the case that 
good and bad alike survived the grave, for a 
time? Not having conversed with other shades, 
he could form no opinions, his spiritual mind 
reeled like car-sickness whenever he applied him- 
self to the problem. If he had done wrong, and 
was being punished, like the Good Book taught, 
he could not particularize upon the wrong. 

His mistakes and sins appeared to him no 
more numerous or worse than those of other 
men, even that good friend. Memories of that 
good friend set his ghostly imagination into a 
new channel. Had he ever really harmed him? 
No, he had not, he had brooded that the good 
friend wronged him, but in his ghostly state 
when and how was not clear. The good friend 
was not better than he ought to be, he probably 
lied, he knew him to be guilty of sins of the 
flesh. No, it was nothing he had done against his 
good friend, except perhaps being jealous of 
him. Perhaps he was jealous of him, but what 
of that, wasn’t everyone dissatisfied who found 
himself on the wrong side of the inequalities of 
life? He had been good to that friend, but he 
was mighty sure he had been paid for everything 


206 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


he had done, to the last penny. If he hadn’t, and 
his filmy shell curdled with malice, he would 
haunt that friend’s heirs, instead of this lonely 
shack. Then the ghostly head would reel, he 
would grow fainter, dawn must be marshalling 
irresistible forces behind Jack’s Mountains to 
the East. 

A chickadee would sing, then all would be 
still around the ruined house. Despite the open 
roof, the air was musty and overpowering in 
the haunted room, no one living could have re- 
mained there. 

Then would come another night, inky black, 
with cold desolate winds flapping the flat grape 
leaves against the house. “A wild night again” 
would whisper the ghost, and stealthily issue 
forth. With each succeeding night came fresh 
impressions of that good friend of the long ago, 
whom he had hated for many years before his 
death. It was a horrid thought, to be added to 
his weight of loneliness and unrest. Perhaps if 
he had not hated that friend, dissolution might 
have brought him dreamless sleep. 

Life had been full of unpleasant situations, 
the after-life was disquieting and so lonely. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


207 


Sometimes vague memories of other friends and 
relatives churned about in his unstable con- 
sciousness. Where were they now, surely this 
was not the Promised Land where he was to 
meet them all, at the very house where he 
had felt the strangle of death. All these images 
added to his unrest, making him more disquiet 
and noisy with the advance of years. The ruined 
coal-burner ’s shack became known as ‘ ‘ the 
haunted-house.” Only those impelled by stern 
necessity came to travel by it at night. There 
was a road that followed the middle of the val- 
ley, longer to some it proved, but what of it, if it 
avoided passing the unholy house. 

One year, early in June, the creek road was 
given a thorough overhauling by a new super- 
visor. He had heard the story of the haunted 
house, vaguely, as he lived across the valley in 
the far end of the township. When mending the 
road directly in front of the old shack, his crew 
sat by the strand of barbed-wire, under the 
shade of some vigorous young wild cherry sap- 
lings, to eat dinner. Some of the older men, 
especially those who lived further up the road, 
complained that the presence of the haunted 


208 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


house hurt the travel on the road. They de- 
scribed the ghost minutely, and whom they 
thought him to be. The younger men laughed, 
but none would admit a desire to pass by the 
shack after nightfall. 

The supervisor, who was a middle-aged man, 
listened attentively. “I wonder if there can 
be anything in this ghost business, or if it’s all 
make believe ? ’ 9 The older men expressed belief, 
the young men were doubters. 

After the dinner buckets were emptied the 
entire crew numbering about a dozen entered 
the house to look about. It was damp and dis- 
agreeable on the first floor. Most of the plaster 
and laths had fallen off the walls and lay 
about the floor. The stairs were rickety, 
and some of the steps rotten enough to 
fall through. The upper rooms were clear and 
cold, all except one. This one, despite the fact 
that it had no roof, was hot, and possessed an 
ugly, sickening odor. “That is the way a ghost 
room always smells” said the oldest man in the 
party. “It is the smell of death, of the death 
that leaves a ghost behind, and fails to liberate 
the spirit.” 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


209 


‘ ‘ Do yon really believe there is a ghost here ? ’ ’ 
said the supervisor, folding his arms across his 
long brown beard. 

‘ ‘ I surely do ’ ’ said the oldest man. 

“I have a good mind” said the supervisor, “to 
spend a night here and see for myself. ’ ’ 

“You’ll have a lot of waiting” chimed in one 
of the lads, “but you might pass your time 
shooting groundhogs, there are a dozen making 
their homes under this old place, I ’ll bet. ’ ’ 

“Well, I cannot stay to-night, I would have 
to notify the folks, but I’ll do it tomorrow if all 
goes well.” 

The next morning work was resumed a little 
further up the road, and amid the toilsome 
routine old and young thought of the experience 
in store for the supervisor. He took supper with 
the oldest man, whose home was a mile above 
the haunted house, and left his horse and buggy 
there. 

In the evening, which at last came, as June 
days are reluctant to depart, he walked with his 
aged friend to the ruined shack. 

“Have you got any firearms?” inquired the 
old man. 


210 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


“I have my revolver, but I don’t expect to use 
it” said the supervisor. He climbed over the 
strand of rusted barbed wire, which at places 
was imbedded deeply in the growing trees, and 
walked boldly across the yard. He took his seat 
on the front door-step, peering within, as the 
door had long since fallen prone in the hall. A 
gentle breeze rustled the shaggy grapevine; it 
was now deadly dark, there was no moon. 
Across the creek a whip-poor-will began its weird 
appeal. It seemed clearer and more distinct than 
he had ever heard it. A few crickets chirped in 
the grass. A night hawk and a bat flitted by 
him. The thought came to him that all this 
was very foolish, a strong man like himself ab- 
senting himself from his family for a night in 
order to meet a ghost. Then he recollected that 
when he was a boy, at the foot of Shade Moun- 
tain in old Snyder County, he had heard that 
ghosts proved troublesome until they delivered 
their messages. Possibly this one had a sad 
story ; when he heard it, the wraith would depart 
forever. The lonely road would be rid of its 
ghost. He would be only adding an extra duty 
to his task as supervisor. The night grew deep- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


211 


er, and more still. The whip-poor-will and its 
comrades grieved themselves away into silence, 
the crickets were lost in the mazes of weeds and 
grass. The screech owl had complained a while, 
then lapsed into silence. 

The supervisor ’s vigil bid fair to be a long one. 
He was on the alert at every sound, even at the 
flapping of the grapevines against the sides of 
the ruined house. He did not know where the 
ghost would appear from, the front door or the 
side door. He liked the front door step best, he 
would let the spectre seek him out. But the time 
was passing apace. The lonely ghost assembled 
itself in the stuffy upstairs room with the gaping 
roof, and tremulously crept down the decaying 
stairs. At the side door he stood irresolute, as 
all ghosts do, a moment, then emerged. The 
grape vine, as if to welcome him, flapped omi- 
nously against the well-box and the clap-boards. 
With stealthy tread, the steps of guilt, the ghost 
stole around the house, and into the open spaces 
of the yard. 

The supervisor, with a grip on his soul, 
sighted the phantom, recalling his old legendary 
instructions that a ghost must be allowed to 


212 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


speak first. It took the ghost, with remarkable 
slowness of apperception, a full half minute to 
become aware of his human visitor. When he 
saw him, instead of blood rushing to his face, as 
in the case of human beings, a weird, white light 
illuminated his form. As he stood bathed in un- 
earthly aura, the old supervisor had a good look 
at him. It was a strangely unformed, unfinished 
face, one not entitled to peace. There was a 
manifest lack of manliness in the toute ensemble. 
The nose with its pitiable insignificance, the lips 
receding to disclose the teeth, the restlessness of 
the eyes, the narrowness of the skull, the flabby 
chin, the thin neck, as well as the breadth of hips, 
all were feminine characteristics. They could 
not be borne by a man capable of great fidelity. 

At last the ghost spoke. “I am very glad to 
see you here, friend, you are the first person who 
has tried to see me in all the time I have been 
wandering about, and yet I meant to frighten 
no one, to do no harm. I have been terribly lone- 
some, and if at first I tried to follow people, it 
was for companionship. ’ ’ 

The supervisor sat silent for a minute, before 
answering. He wanted to speak to the point, 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


213 


he might not have a chance to talk long. “Are 
you sure, stranger, that it was companionship 
you were seeking, as you could not feel anything 
in common with living folks, or was it that you 
had something to tell?” 

The ghost smiled, a sickly, unstable smile with 
his thin lips. ‘ ‘ I thought that it was companion- 
ship I needed, but I may have had something 
to tell. ’ ’ 

“Then tell it” said the supervisor, bluntly. 
‘ ‘ I have been very unhappy ever since I entered 
this state ’ ’ began the ghost. 

“Who did you wrong in life?” broke in the 
supervisor, “let us have no preambles.” 

“I had a friend in my youth,” resumed the 
spectre, “when I lived across those mountains to 
the east, he occupied a different position in life, 
he was a landowner, and I a farm laborer. I 
felt unhappy because he owned property and I 
did not, although his own life in private was 
tragic in the extreme. I forgot Nature’s just 
balance, imagining he had everything, I nothing. 
[ liked to be with him as he was good-natured 
and liberal, but away from him I could not re- 
strain myself from abusing him to others. No 


214 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


matter how he suffered I had no sympathy, I 
inwardly hated him for his material prosperity. 
And yet I should have felt happy that one like 
he made so much of me. During a particularly 
depressing period in his young life, a wonder- 
fully rare girl crossed his path. All his past 
miseries were forgotten in his love for her. It 
was as he often said ‘the high-tide of his ex- 
istence. ’ Persons went to the girl’s family and 
told them of incidents in my friend’s life, and 
they forbade her to see him. An impulse seized 
me to go to the parents, and explain away the 
slanders. I could have made things right, I was 
respected in the community, but as I hated his 
worldly prosperity, I must see him crossed in 
love. Later the vile stories were denied by 
others, and it seemed as if love would triumph. 

One bright morning I met my friend riding 
his horse along the lane which wound around 
the hills to the fair girl’s home. I was wending 
my way to the fields, with a scythe on my 
shoulder, it was the time of wheat harvest. I 
signalled to him to stop, which he did, as he was 
always glad to see me. There was an expression 
in his face that told of the inward joy in his 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


215 


soul, the love smile. I told him some things I 
had heard, mentioning names and places, against 
the fair girl’s good name. I saw he grew deadly 
pale, and put his arm around the neck of his 
noble black horse. I drove my awful story home 
with a wealth of detail and circumstantial evi- 
dence. I knew the story to be a lie, though I 
was so intent on impressing him that I actually 
believed it at the time. He got on his horse, 
which he put to a canter, and he was lost to 
view among the turns in the lane among the oak- 
grown hills. 

“The marriage never took place. The girl 
married another, the man married another. I 
never heard what became of her, but my friend ’s 
life was wretchedly unhappy. I saw a chance to 
make a good living as a coal-burner and moved 
away. When I left I felt sure I had dragged my 
prosperous friend into the dirt, it was my mental 
tonic all through the years. ’ ’ 

The ghost was prepared to say more, but the 
supervisor, eyeing him all the while with a cold, 
penetrating stare, interrupted. “Tell me the 
name of that man, and I will go to him and right 
the wrong.’ ’ 


216 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


“Too late” moaned the ghost, “he has been 
dead these many years.” 

“And the woman?” said the old man, very 
harshly. 

‘ ‘ She, too, is dead, it is all too late. ’ 9 

“Tell me their names, anyhow,” said the su- 
pervisor. The ghost did as directed. “My 
heavens” said the old supervisor, “that man was 
my father, that explains his unhappy marriage, 
and early death, the tangled state of his affairs. ’ ’ 
Rising to his feet with angry emphasis he struck 
at the frail, quavering ghost. With a moan, like 
a wind among dead leaves, the spectre fell into 
nothingness. 

The old man crossed the yard; at the barbed- 
wire fence he paused. “This explains the 
daguerreotpye broken in two of a beautiful 
blonde woman, that we found in father’s strong- 
box, after his death. I can forgive him now 
for a thousand things I never understood before. 
I know why he could not give his whole heart to 
poor mother.” There were tears in the rugged 
old face as he stepped over the fence. “At any 
rate, I have laid that wretched ghost. If the 
Good Man takes what is left of his spirit that 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


217 


confession will have made it pure. But the score 
of people whom he harmed directly and indi- 
rectly, no hope for them. ’ ’ 

With bowed head he moved along the lane, 
thinking thoughts deeper than had ever stirred 
his soul. 

His anxious host was sitting up to greet him, 
on the kitchen porch. ‘ ‘ Did you see the ghost ? ’ * 
he called out, when he saw the supervisor com- 
ing in the gate. 

4 ‘Yes, I saw him, and I laid him for good and 
all” replied the old man with emphasis. And 
the little lane along the foot of Shamokin Moun- 
tain never knew the lonely ghost again ; he prob- 
ably had joined a happier throng. 



XIII. 


THE HORSE BEATER. 
(Story of the Old River Dam.) 


BOUT the time of the war” 
said the old grave-digger, “I 
was very fond of fishing for 
cat-fish by the new moon’s 
light, above the dam. It 

seemed as if they bit quicker 
after night, or when there was 
some little light from the 
moon. Early in the evening 
there were a few other fishermen at my favorite 
eddy, but along towards midnight I had the 
whole river front to myself. Even when alone 
it was not always pleasant; in the spring and 
fall of the year the banks would be drifted full 
of barrels of dead wild pigeons, and the stench 
was unbearable. The hunters killed the birds fast- 
er than they could eat or ship them, so when they 
started to ‘go bad’ they dumped them barrels 




£ 


© 




218 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


219 


and all into the river. I didn’t mind when the 
river was filled with rafts and logs, as I could 
fish in among them, but the dead pigeons drove 
me away. 

There was an old Yankee stage-driver, he drove 
the Robertsburg stage, who used to live back on 
the hill from where I fished. He usually got in 
from his trips at ten or eleven o’clock, and about 
midnight he would come down to the river bank 
to fill a couple of pails of water for his horses. He 
was a crochety old fellow, and seldom answered 
me when I wished him good-evening. He was 
always swearing and muttering to himself; I 
always suspected he was over-tired when he got 
back from his long overland journeys, and did 
not get sleep enough. Often when he went back 
with the water, I would hear his horses prancing 
and kicking, and the blows of his cudgel over 
their heads and backs would drift to me through 
the night air. Evidently if the horses drank too 
little, or chafed for more, he would give them a 
sound drubbing. Before daybreak he would go 
out again, so he really never had a full night’s 
sleep. 


220 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


I was of a friendly nature, but try as I might 
was never able during the two or three years I 
fished at that eddy, to make any headway with 
his acquaintance. He was a little, lean man, 
with a beak nose, and long grey side- whiskers ; 
he was a type of face and form one could not 
easily forget. 

One rainy autumn he caught a heavy cold, and 
was forced to take his bed. He grieved for fear 
he would lose his mail contract, but refused to let 
anyone else drive his horses. He evidently liked 
them in some strange, selfish way. While he 
was ill another hackman in town ran a stage and 
carried the mail. But he worried so much, that 
the strain told on him, and he died. As he had 
run the stage for twenty-five years, ever since the 
county was established, his faults were instantly 
forgotten, and there was general lamenting over 
his demise. A big crowd attended the funeral, 
his obituaries filled columns in the county papers. 
He did not live with his wife, and was on un- 
friendly terms with his sons-in-law, consequently 
there was no continuance to his business. 

The other hackman got the mail contract, and 
took up the stage-route. The horses were given 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


221 


a good rest for once in their lives, and were being 
fattened preparatory to sale. They were a 
husky pair of bays, full brothers, bred in the 
county, and with a dash of Conestoga blood in 
them. On their upper lips were tufts of hair like 
mustaches. Despite eulogies and mourning dis- 
plays the old stage-driver was forgotten in a 
few days. 

His successor was a big, round-faced, jovial 
Dutchman, who honestly strove to accommodate. 
People wondered why they had respected or 
tolerated the old fellow who died, so long. His 
peculiarities were thrown into bolder relief in 
contrast to his genial successor. The pendulum 
speedily swung the other way, the dead man was 
roundly execrated. 

One night while I was sitting by the hank, I 
was perched on a big white pine log that had 
drifted on shore, fishing away, I thought I heard 
a rustling of leaves in the hazel-bushes which 
lined the path which led from the hilltop to the 
river. I looked around but could see nothing. I 
listened, I heard the sound again. It might be a 
stray cat, sneaking down to look for dead fish 
or pigeons. Soon I perceived a human figure 


222 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


emerging from the underbrush. It was stooped 
and attenuated, and carried two water buckets. 
It must be some one from the aged stage-driver ’s 
home coming down to get water for the horses. 
It appeared an unearthly time to water horses 
which weren’t doing any work. I looked more 
carefully; the figure resembled the dead man so 
closely, I concluded it must be his brother who 
had come in from Illinois for the funeral. But 
the brother wore a chin-beard, whereas this man 
had only side-whiskers. It was surely the stage- 
driver himself, although he had been dead nearly 
two weeks. I was too young to know what terror 
really meant, and gazed with a peculiar fasci- 
nation at the apparition. He paused not ten feet 
from where I sat, and stooped over to fill his 
buckets. I spoke out boldly, ‘Good evening, 
Mister, I am glad to see you here again.’ At 
this the spectre raised up, and glared at me. 
A few streaks of moonlight, it must have been 
that, lit up his face, and made it gleam like fox- 
fire. Through the transparent flesh I could see 
the dark outlines of the skeleton. He glared at 
me, grinding his teeth, as if I had tried to in- 
sult him. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


223 


I became a little frightened. ‘I meant no 
harm, sir,’ I protested. ‘I only said I was glad 
to see you out again.’ This seemed to mollify 
the ghost, and he stooped down again and filled 
his two buckets. Then he turned around, took 
another, and more amiable look at me, and 
started up the hill. When he was out of sight I 
realized I had seen a ghost, a particularly hor- 
rible one at that. I had heard it said that the 
baser a man ’s thoughts or deeds in life, the more 
distorted looking his spirit after death, and this 
surely was a case in point. It was the first ghost 
I had seen ; I hoped it would be the last. 

But I was a stout-hearted boy in those days 
and instead of running home and hiding my 
head under the quilts, I threw my line back into 
the water, and a minute later landed a big cat- 
fish. But I fancied I heard the horses being 
beaten in the stable. 

The next night I was back at the river-bank 
more out of curiosity to see the old stage-driver ’s 
ghost than to catch the fish. I hardly dared hope 
he would come again, I had a notion, I don’t 
know where I got it, that ghosts only appeared 
once in the same place. About midnight I heard 


224 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


the hazel-twigs crackling, I knew my weird visi- 
tor was at hand. This time he was more sociable, 
as he wished me good evening, in a tone of voice 
gentler than he had ever used in life, even to his 
own family. I was in hopes that he would be 
more forbearing with the poor horses when he 
returned to the stable with the water. He 
lingered around the water’s edge, as if he had 
something on his mind, yet did not have quite 
the courage or ability to impart it. I know now 
why he never was able to tell me his story — I 
had spoken first. A ghost must be allowed to 
tell his sad story, then human beings can add 
anything they wish. But the ghost must speak 
first, else he is forever dumb to explain his sad 
meaning. Finally the old man, or whatever he 
was, filled his pails, and scrambled up the steep 
path. 

In ten minutes I heard that awful commotion 
in the stable. It sounded as if the horses would 
kick down the flimsy building in their frenzy. 
It seemed to keep up for half an hour; it must 
have waked all the households in the neighbor- 
hood. The stable stood in the dreary outskirts 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


225 


of the town, but there were a number of houses 
within half a square. 

I left for home after the noise quieted down, 
considerably mystified by the whole proceeding. 
The next night the ghost appeared again at the 
bank, and filled his water buckets. He greeted 
me gently, but his ugly humor evidently quickly 
returned, as the racket in the horse-stable was 
louder than ever. For a week this kept up, and 
I wondered why the neighbors, God fearing peo- 
ple that they were, permitted it to go on without 
an investigation. 

I did not like to discuss the matter with my 
parents, who were Church members. If they 
thought I met a ghost at the river-side they 
might forbid my nocturnal fishing trips, even 
though they substantially added to the larder. 
But I should have done so out of mercy for the 
poor horses. 

On the Sunday night after I had first seen the 
ghost, I was at my fishing as usual. The ghost 
appeared, but I noticed he was deep in his ugly 
humor. He refused to speak to me, and was 
muttering and swearing to himself, just as he 
used to do in life. He hung around the water 


226 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


longer than at any other time. He sat on 
another big log, near to my favorite perch, curs- 
ing terribly. I could hear him grit his teeth, al- 
though he never turned about to look at me. He 
kept his back to me most of the time. At last he 
roused himself, filled his buckets, and clambered 
up the steep bank. I wondered what was wrong 
with the old fellow. I was puzzled at the time. 
I believe he had something to tell, but could not, 
and realizing his ghostly days were numbered, 
was wild with chagrin. Soon the rumpus at 
the barn began again. It was louder than ever. 
I marvelled it did not rouse the entire town. 
Horses in our town were generally treated with 
kindness; though it was before the days of hu- 
mane societies, there were scores of kindly dis- 
posed souls whom I might name, who would 
have interfered. The noise became so terrific 
that I hid my lines in the underbrush, and 
climbed up the bank. I ran to the scene, just 
in time to see others running in the same direc- 
tion. 

Just as the half dozen men coming from differ- 
ent angles were within a hundred yards of the 
barn, the doors flew open, and the old stage was 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


227 


backed down the incline, and out into the open 
lot. No one seemed to be doing it, yet it ran 
with great celerity. The horses were still 
prancing about, as if crazed from their beating. 
Among the men in the crowd alluded to, I recog- 
nized two or three. ‘Somebody’s gone and 
broken into that barn, and would have stolen 
horses, stagecoach and all, if we hadn ’t heard 
him.’ The others chorused assent, but I said 
nothing, whispering to myself, ‘wait and see.’ 

The men rushed in the barn, hoping to find 
the thief in the mow or crouched in the feed- 
chest. None of them had lanterns, but by match- 
es they were able to form a fair idea of the con- 
dition of the premises. The doors had been 
opened, the stage shoved out. That was correct 
enough. The double harness had been dragged 
off its pegs, and lay strewn over the barn-floor. 
This supported the robbery theory. When the 
horse-stalls were visited, every man was struck 
for an explanation. The poor beasts were still 
prancing about, white with foam. Their backs 
were badly marked with welts where they had 
been beaten. Some of the skin had been knocked 
off their muzzles and over their eyes. Back of 


228 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


one of the stalls, in the straw, lay a long oak 
club with knob on the end of it. That had been 
the weapon used by the horse-beater, whoever he 
might be. On the feed-boxes, in front of each 
horse, sat an untouched bucketful of water. 
That was why, in my estimation, the ghost 
pounded the horses, they would not drink for 
him. The simple men who had been attracted by 
the noise propounded the theory that the thief 
had tried to get the team to drink before he 
harnessed them, and upon their refusal, beat 
them so unmercifully. At this I literally 
‘ laughed in my sleeve. ’ 

In the midst of the excitement, the two sons- 
in-law of the deceased stage-driver dashed into 
the barn, breathless from running. One carried 
a lantern, the other a shot-gun. Had they not 
recognized some of us, I believe we would have 
been shot down as liorse-thieves! They could 
not understand what had happened, except that 
a thief had been surprised at the crucial moment. 
While everybody was trying to talk at once, 
another party put in an appearance. He was an 
old High German, who lived at the far upper 
end of town, not very distant from where the 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


229 


new hospital now stands. How he heard the 
noise that far away I cannot say unless it was 
louder than I dared to imagine. He stood in a 
corner of the barn-floor for a couple of minutes, 
pulling his long pointed beard; an underseized 
man he was, much like pictures of those gnomes 
in the story of Rip Van Winkle. Then he leisure- 
ly strolled into the horse-stable. 

One of the sons-in-law of the stage driver, who 
knew the old German and myself, followed at a 
respectful distance. The old fellow went into 
one of the horse-stalls, seizing the trembling 
animal resolutely by the bridle. He looked at 
its countenance carefully, and then came out 
shaking his shaggy head. He went into the ad- 
joining stall, and examined the other horse’s 
head. When he came out he shook his long bony 
fore-finger saying: 1 Horses with mustaches see 
things. Those horses have been annoyed by a 
ghost, and not a horse-thief. I believe that old 
rascal who owned them has been back, that’s all 
there is to this shindy. ’ 

The dead man’s son-in-law scowled at the Ger- 
man, but said nothing because of his advanced 
age. 


230 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


We all returned to the barn-floor, where the 
willing crowd had pulled the stage back into 
place, and re-arranged and hung the harness on 
its pegs. The old German recognizing one of 
the men, said out loudly so everybody could 
hear: ‘This has been a ghost’s doings, that old 
man’s ghost; better they sell these horses or it 
will occur every night. ’ 

‘Nonsense, stop such talk,’ called out one of 
the sons-in-law angrily, shaking his fist at 
the German busybody. 

The old man grinned, and turned and walked 
quietly out of the stable. I followed him and 
when we reached the walk I ran up beside him 
and told him I had seen the stagedriver ’s ghost 
every night for a week, filling his horse-buckets 
at the river. The old German laughed heartily. 
‘I knew that was the case’ he said, ‘but these 
smart young fellows think they know more than 
we old chaps.’ But there was every reason to 
believe that the old German’s warning had its 
effect. That next afternoon the horses were re- 
moved to a barn at the other end of town, and a 
few days later were sold to a farmer from the 
German Settlement. I fished at midnight a 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


23! 


good many times after that. I sometimes heard 
the hazel-bushes creak, hut I never again caught 
sight of the ghost of the horse-beating old stage- 
driver. ’ 1 



XIV. 


QUEEN ELIZABETH. 
(Story of Frenchville.) 


ROM the noise those wolves are 
making to-night ’ 7 said old 
Richard Aubier, opening the 
door of his comfortable man- 
sion of logs and plaster, lantern 
in hand, and peering out into 
the gloom, “I do believe they 
are going to cross the river 
and capture the settlement. ’ 7 
The loud, raucous yelping of two hundred 
or more hungry beasts, rose high above the roar 
of the water-wheel at the sturdy pioneer’s saw- 
mill. 

The old man’s daughter Elizabeth, a tall slim 
girl of eighteen, with unusual refinement of fea- 
tures, and exquisite blonde coloring, pressed to 
her father’s side, and with him listened to the 
weird uproar on the mountains across the river 
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SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


233 


at the mouth of Deer. When it would cease for 
a moment, the roll of the water-wheel, flashing 
its white spray against the blackness of the 
night, would become intensified. The old man 
made a move to go back to the fireside, where his 
wife and younger children were seated in a 
huge settle, and Elizabeth slipped the lantern 
into her own hand. Winding a scarf above her 
profuse golden hair, of the color that Fragonard 
would have delighted to paint, she stood on the 
steps, irresolute for a moment. Then she step- 
ped outside, and swinging the lantern to and 
fro, leisurely strolled along the boardwalk to the 
front gate. 

The walk was a ponderous swinging contrap- 
tion, made of cull lumber. Setting the lantern 
on the grass, she leaned against the gate, listen- 
ing to the wolfish music, to the eternal splash of 
the water-wheel. Born as she had been in this 
primitive French settlement near the Susque- 
hanna headwaters, amid all the struggle for ex- 
istence and loneliness, she was acutely conscious 
that she possessed a French soul. With it she 
saw and felt as no one else about her; she real- 
ized a spiritual barrier, even at her early age, 


234 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


which kept her from close association with the 
other girls in the settlement. She was devout 
in her religious duties at St. Mary ’s-on-the- 
Mountain, she kept up her knowledge of her 
family’s language at the Parochial school under 
the pines, just by the church. She read when- 
ever she could find the time, even the simplest 
books made a profound impression on her. She 
was at this time what would be called “a pure 
spirit.” She was as she had come from the 
Eternal Source, no debasing or weakening in- 
fluences had touched her in this little village of 
the wilderness. 

Her father and mother, natives of Picardy, 
were among the first dozen families to arrive 
at Frenchville, where they had prospered — the 
tract of land on which it stood having been 
originally bought as an asylum for the great 
Bonaparte. The girl had been born a year after 
her parents’ arrival in the wilds; an older broth- 
er had been born in France. This boy Marcelin 
had been knocked off a raft coming from Cherry- 
tree the year before ; it had cast the first serious 
aspect over her life; it added to her studious 
mien, and tendency towards introspection. The 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


235 


entire family had been bowed down by the loss 
of their only son, so her silence, and abstraction 
caused no comment among them. 

This cold autumn night, as she leaned against 
the gate, listening to the wolves calling, and the 
rush and swirl of the big waterwheel, she 
thought of her sorrow, of the mystery of life, of 
her personal destiny. She wondered why her 
parents had left “La Belle France’ ’ where they 
had friends and relatives, and tolerably comfort- 
able social position, for this isolated spot. It 
was grand no doubt, from a scenic point of view, 
perhaps more so than the valley of the Allier. 
On clear mornings from where she lolled to- 
night, could be seen the three famous knobs of 
Clearfield County. “Little Alps” the old French 
people called them, especially when their dark 
heliotrope crests commingled with the snows. It 
was a boundless landscape to be sure, an end- 
less sea of pine and hemlock, as wild as in co- 
lonial days. The elk were pretty well driven 
north, which accounted for the added ferocity of 
the wolves, which fed off the weakly members 
of the herds, but deer, bears, panthers, wild cats, 
catamounts and foxes ranged the forests, as bold 


236 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


and plentiful as in the days before the hunters 
assailed them. 

It was a beautiful sight to see the vast flocks 
of wild pigeons sweeping around the crests of 
the distant Knobs, like wreaths about the brows 
of immortal poets. 

Elizabeth Aubier was conscious of all this 
beauty; it gave her a sense of security in the 
wilderness, and dulled the latent curiosity as to 
how the beloved France of her parents really 
looked. The hound-dogs which earlier in the 
evening had barked themselves hoarse in protest 
against the wolfish invasion had been still for 
some time. Suddenly they began again, but in 
a lower key, a snarling, rasping bark, that some- 
one was nigh. Elizabeth leaning on the heavy 
gate looked up and down the road, but could 
discern little in the darkness. She reached over, 
and picking up the fluttering lantern, placed it 
on the top of the gate. Its uncertain light 
danced and eddied on the stony, uneven road, 
that was little better than a trail. 

Despite the lantern, five human figures were 
almost opposite to her before she noticed them. 
All five proved to be young men, of good average 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


237 


height, stockily built, and graceful. Their leader 
stopped when near to her, and saluting her with 
his rifle, spoke to her in tones of great civility. 
“Please pardon me, young lady, but does Israel 
Laverte still keep that canoe at the mouth of 
Deer?” 

Before the girl could answer, one of the other 
young men interrupted saying: “If he does, 
we thought we would go down and chase a few 
of those mountain nightingales back into the tall 
timber. ’ ’ 

Israel Laverte was a young Franco-Pennsyl- 
vanian who had gone to school with Elizabeth. 
“I think the canoe is still there, but he is away 
lumbering” replied the girl, pleasantly. “We 
knew he was away” said the boldest young man, 
“else two hundred wolves would not be howling 
themselves hoarse directly across the river from 
his home.” 

Elizabeth smiled to herself; she had always 
imagined Israel a great hunter, it was now 
proved by his being praised by strangers. The 
dogs were growling and wagging their tails, al- 
ternately, but still making quite a noise. Eliza- 


238 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


beth heard the side door opening, her father 
was evidently coming to join in the talk. 

The young strangers were clustered close 
about the gate, confiding and friendly. By the 
lamplight she could study their faces, she was 
not surprised to find that they were Indians. 
She had seen so many redmen in her brief life, 
they were no novelty. Many of them ran the 
rafts on the river, or worked in the lumber 
camps which were becoming more numerous 
every year in the deep ravines which opened into 
the river valley. Others bound on hunting trips, 
passed by the house in the fall and winter. This 
party of five were an interesting lot of young 
fellows. 

Their leader, the one with the kindly voice 
who had spoken first, fascinated her particular- 
ly. His size and build reminded her of Israel, 
who was her paragon of manhood, but his fea- 
tures were more finely cut. There was an ascet- 
ic droop to his high nose, a melancholy glance in 
his deepset eyes, a sensitiveness to his mouth, al- 
together lacking in Israel. The night was cold, 
but probably from walking far, he felt over- 
heated and removed his elqth cap. The night 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


239 


wind blew a strand of soft, black hair across his 
broad brow, and sometimes he brushed it back 
from his eyes. He was in the early twenties, she 
imagined, as were his comrades. 

By this time old Richard Aubier had joined 
the party at the gate. He shook hands with the 
leader. “Good evening, Sammy’ * he said in 
genial tones. They said a few words about the 
wolves, and then the Indian cavalcade made 
ready to move on. 

The young leader’s eyes met Elizabeth’s, 
there was an answering flash between those orbs 
of black and grey. Elizabeth rarely opened her 
eyes fully, but the glance, half-mast, from be- 
neath her long dark lashes, was one never to be 
forgotten by anyone thus favored. 

“Who was that young man, father, he seemed 
very nice” inquired the girl, as the two, arm in 
arm, walked towards the house along the board- 
walk. 

“That’s young Sammy Jimmerson, the king 
of the Senecas, he’s grandson of the great chief 
Red Jacket.” 

“I thought he was a person of some quality” 
said the girl, “but where did you meet him?” 


240 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


“You recall/ ’ said the old man, “when I went 
on that big elk drive at the Flag Swamps last 
autumn? Well, we found Sammy, as I call him, 
camped near the feeding grounds. He joined 
with us, and not a single elk could escape.’ * Be- 
fore they re-entered the house they paused a 
minute on the door-step to hear the wolves. They 
were howling in concert, like the voice of one 
huge lion. “Those boys will drive them off,” 
said the old pioneer as he closed the door. 

Secretly Elizabeth felt that her Indian ac- 
quaintances would not molest the wolves, that 
the party had stopped because their leader felt 
a strange admiration for her. Despite her 
matchless beauty, she was totally unaware of it. 
She never ascribed motives to mere politeness. 

Madame Aubier was coming down stairs, af- 
ter having put the younger children to bed, as 
they came in, and Elizabeth told her enthusias- 
tically about meeting the Indian King. The 
mother took kings, even aboriginal ones, serious- 
ly, and said that between her husband and 
daughter they should have had forethought 
enough to invite him in. Madame Aubier, like 
her husband was good-natured, but was less ab- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


241 


sent-minded and dreamy than he, or Elizabeth, 
for that matter. 

The Indians went their way along the narrow 
trail beneath the tall lace-tipped pines. They 
made no effort to molest the wolves, precisely as 
Elizabeth had surmised. Nocturnal as some wild 
beasts, they traveled until dawn, when they 
found a cozy nook beside a gushing spring, and 
built a fire to cook a breakfast of pine squirrels. 

Sammy, or the Seneca King, never spoke a 
word after he left Elizabeth. Always dreaming, 
with the hyper-sensitiveness of the white blood 
in his veins, his heart was touched to the in- 
nermost by this, the fairest vision of his life. 
Young as he was, he had already married after 
a tribal custom, but it was a temporary alliance, 
arranged to keep his hot-blood in check until 
someone of suitable rank could be provided. He 
thought of Elizabeth as a beautiful vision, al- 
most as a fair unreality, at first. Towards dawn 
he regarded her in the light of a possible Seneca 
Queen, a consort with whom to revive the dying 
magnificence and traditions of his race. Like a 
royal-blooded Rienzi, he longed to evoke a 
renaissance among the Northern Indians, not in 


242 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


anyway unfriendly to the whites, but to be the 
last great personage of his race, before inevit- 
able fate turned them all into vague shadows. 

Elizabeth, in her little room under the roof, 
lay awake until daybreak. There was something 
about the young Indian that was bizarre, even 
sublime ; he captivated her thoughts. She 
at once imagined him to possess ideals, and tried 
to compare him with Israel Laverte. 

Israel had been the most sought after youth in 
the French settlement; yet apart from his un- 
questioned courage and good looks, was there 
anything else ? She had heard of his being drunk 
at a speak-easy at the mouth of Moshannon, and 
even in Clearfield Town. He had tried to kiss 
her in presence of everybody at a dancing party 
at the general store ; perhaps he had been drink- 
ing then, hard cider was plentiful. But Israel 
was a tangible reality ; she could have him, other 
girls wanted him. 

The Seneca King was a passing fancy; in all 
probabilities she would never see him again. But 
during the months that ensued, even when she 
was with Israel, there rose before her the shad- 
owy presentiment of the Indian youth, and that 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


243 


he was thinking about her. She could not ex- 
corcize him from her spirit. 

She was growing more beautiful all the time; 
a handsome young aristocrat from Philadelphia, 
of the proud house of Shippen, who was inspect- 
ing the family timberlands, spent a night at the 
Aubier home. He could speak French beauti- 
fully, and charmed one and all. He was smitten 
with Elizabeth, and she liked him, even though 
in the background of her soul ever rose the shade 
of the Seneca King. 

As for the King himself, far away, he only 
thought of the fair Elizabeth, there were wire- 
less messages even in the first quarter of the 
nineteenth century. With his suite, he had trav- 
elled southwesterly to the Allegheny, fishing and 
hunting just enough to keep the party in pro- 
visions. At the Allegheny canoes were in readi- 
ness; the real sport began, and they hunted up 
that historic river clear to Johnnycake. There 
they went into winter quarters, on the royal 
island, using their idle moments to tan their elk 
and panther hides. In work and in idleness, 
awake or asleep, the Seneca King thought solely 
of Elizabeth. If he blamed himself once, he did 


244 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


a thousand times, and that meant three or four 
times a day, for not having gone back, and be- 
come better acquainted with the girl. As an In- 
dian King, with a lineage estimated a thousand 
years at least, and bearing the blood of Mary 
Jameson, “The Woman of the Genesee,’ ’ he con- 
sidered himself the peer of any person. 

When he left the royal campgrounds in the 
early summer, he resolved to see Elizabeth, court 
her, and if she was willing, make her his queen. 
He still owned much land in Pennsylvania and 
New York, besides having tribal rights to vast 
territory in the West. On the way he happened 
upon some young Frenchmen who knew his be- 
loved’s family well. They mentioned that Rich- 
ard Aubier was on the committee who were get- 
ting up a big picnic of French people, to be held 
in mid- August on the heights above Keewaydin. 
The Seneca King felt sure that Elizabeth would 
be present; he could meet her there. It would 
be a good place to become better acquainted, 
when everybody was feeling so happy. He 
camped, hunted, and fished the weeks away, un- 
til the time for the big picnic drew near. Then, 
with his followers, he travelled one whole night, 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


245 


so that they arrived on the picnic ground at 
dawn on the famous day. , 

These picnics are still being held annually, 
though not always in the same grove, and nearly 
a century after the first one, are every bit as 
popular. Fifteen hundred people attended the 
picnic held in 1912. The grove above Keeway- 
din had been until lately a feeding ground for 
elks, and a half century earlier for buffaloes. 
The grass, long tramped and browsed, resembled 
a lawn; shade was provided by enormous, slen- 
der chestnut trees, and a few original pines. On 
four sides of the hill were rich springs of water ; 
it was a picturesque and convenient spot in ev- 
ery sense of the word. Most of the French set- 
tlers were early to arrive. Some came on horse- 
back, or in wagons, but the majority walked. 
Baskets and bundles of eatables filled consider- 
able space ; a dancing floor of hand-sawed boards 
adorned a shady nook. There were booths where 
eatables were sold; one of these was adorned 
with the tricolor. The big crowd was happy, it 
was a triumph of this New France. The crowd 
were well-dressed; orderly but good-natured. 


246 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


They were a handsome lot, old and young, and 
among the more youthful participants were 
about an even number of brunettes and blondes. 
The young girls liked to adorn their dresses and 
hair with bright ribbons ; some of the boys wore 
brown velvet coats and flowing red or blue ties. 
In contrast to these, Elizabeth, who with her 
family was among the early arrivals, was simply 
attired. She wore a pale blue silk skirt, and a white 
waist, made partly from lace her mother had 
carefully brought from Picardy. Her golden 
hair was worn coiled about her head, her fore- 
head was covered by little blonde bangs. She 
wore no jewelry nor ornaments. 

Besides the French element, there were other 
picturesque types represented. The trappers 
from the wilderness were all on hand, big, dark- 
bearded fellows, swaggering about with their 
hands in the pockets of their beaver-skin vests. 
The rivermen were much in evidence, bearded, 
tall, and angular, booted, and wearing shirts of 
blue or scarlet. Then there were short, stout, 
broadhatted farmers, from the vicinity of Clear- 
field Town, taking their pleasures seriously. Of 
course there were the women and children of 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


247 


these types, as oddly costumed, and individual, 
as the men. 

The Indian coterie, headed by King Jimmer- 
son, wandered among the motley crowd, some- 
times casting glances at the pretty girls, but usu- 
ally travelling with downcast eyes. If they but 
knew it, they were the sensation of the day. The 
young King was dressed for the occasion. He 
wore a red cloth cap, with an osprey’s feather 
in it, a blue coat with red facings and sleeve- 
lets, blue trousers, and black knee boots with red 
tops. A silver medal, a gift from George Wash- 
ington to one of his ancestors, dangled from a 
chain of like material around his neck. He wore 
a cartridge belt well-filled, and carried his long 
rifle, the stock of which was inlaid with silver, 
much as the modern country gallant does his 
buggy-whip, at campmeeting. The other In- 
dians were somewhat less gaily attired. His 
eagle eye finally rested on the fair Elizabeth, 
who with several other girls, was watching the 
unharnessing of the six-horse stage which had 
brought a goodly crowd from Clearfield Town, 
twenty miles away. Saluting her with his rifle, 
he smiled at her with his sad, wistful lips. 


248 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


The young girl’s face brightened; she held 
out her hand; it was like meeting her oldest 
friend. From that moment until after ten 
o ’clock that night, when the Aubier family start- 
ed homeward, the handsome young couple were 
together. 

They strolled among the happy throngs all 
the forenoon, the most admired of all. They ate 
dinner together at the Aubier spread under a 
mammoth rock oak ; then they wandered off to a 
secluded nook, where they tarried all afternoon. 
They made love to the music from the throats 
of many turtle doves in the tall trees. They 
ate supper together, with the old folks, and 
in the evening, though it had the chilliness 
of a two thousand foot altitude, they sought an- 
other glade, where they remained until the en- 
amored King, by the aid of Red Jacket’s huge 
silver watch, saw it was time to rejoin the family 
party. During the afternoon, and during the 
evening, he had kissed her, and their love was 
cemented by a few sincere words. Only once 
had Israel Laverte 's name been mentioned. That 
was when Elizabeth had asked the young king 
if he had taken the canoe and crossed the river 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


249 


after the howling wolves. “Of course not,” the 
Indian replied frankly; Elizabeth then confided 
to him that she had never thought for a moment 
he would do so. Then they both had a good 
laugh, and another kiss. 

The King spent the night at the Aubier resi- 
dence, after escorting the girl home. He prom- 
ised to rejoin his followers at the picnic-ground 
on the morrow. Madame Aubier was particular- 
ly nice to him ; he told her freely of his ancient 
lineage, of his individual hopes to rehabilitate 
the kingdom of the Senecas. “But,” he admit- 
ted unhesitatingly, “we are a dying race, my 
best efforts cannot prolong our glories long. ’ ’ 

“It is a wonder , ’ 9 remarked the shrewd 
French mother, “that a young man of your 
talents and power has not married.” 

King Jimmerson did not reply; he could not 
very well say he had been unofficially married, 
or that he had not. The next morning he lin- 
gered around the hospitable home until nearly 
noontime. He left telling Elizabeth that he 
would go home and arrange his affairs, and come 
back at Christmas time and make her his wife. 
Meanwhile they would correspond as often as 


250 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


they could get their letters transported. The 
girl suggested that he ask her mother’s consent, 
but the Indian objected to this. Pressed for a 
reason, he confessed that he had been married 
to one of the plain squaws of his tribe, on his 
eighteenth birthday, but could have the bonds 
dissolved provided he was marrying some one 
of equal rank. “That you are, my love,” he 
declared dramatically. “I will have myself 
freed by the council from my unofficial wife, and 
return at Christmas time and wed you. ’ ’ 

This seemed plausible enough to the love-sick 
girl, so she bade him good-bye tearfully; and 
with promises not to tell her mother of his other 
alliance, they parted. When she told her mother 
that she w*as to be married to the young mon- 
arch, it pleased the good lady mightily. 

A few nights later Etienne Vallechamp, a 
noted French trader, stopped over night with 
the Aubiers. He was a great traveller, and car- 
ried on a considerable fur business with the Sen- 
ecas. In the presence of Elizabeth, Madame Au- 
bier told him about the recent visit from young 
King Jimmerson. “Why he’s a married man, 
and has a couple of children,” said the burly 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


25! 


trader, bluntly. Then he went on to say that 
while the young king was a fine example of the 
old-fashioned redman, morally he was no better 
than Indians usually were. Elizabeth had al- 
ready posted one letter to her Indian lover, and 
with her mother’s consent. 

Before she went to bed her mother ordered 
that she write him no further. “If you want a 
lover, there’s Israel Laverte, all the girls in the 
settlement are crazy over him; he’s good stock, 
and he has got no wife.” Elizabeth had ceased 
to care for Israel, and though she knew he 
would be home in a few days, it did not quicken 
her interest. She cried all that night, doubts 
entering her mind to add to her torment. Per- 
haps the Indian youth had a real wife ; he might 
be doing an act of injustice to this woman and 
the children if he discarded them so as to make 
her his bride. 

In three weeks came an answer to the first let- 
ter. It was couched in terms of deepest affec- 
tion. All through it were little sketches of ani- 
mals, birds, trees, showing that the Seneca King 
was considerable of an artist. Elizabeth retired 
to her little room under the roof to read it. She 


252 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


read it half a dozen times before finally tucking 
it in the bosom of her dress. 

Madame Aubier had seen the letter arrive, her 
husband had brought it from the post-office. 
She forbid Elizabeth to answer it. This aroused 
a spirit of rebellion in the proud young girl. She 
could not believe the young King was deceiving 
her even though he might be doing an unmanly 
act to put away a wife and children for her. Af- 
ter night, when she retired to bed, she wrote him 
long and passionately, her little room lit only 
by the light of a flickering candle. Through 
the partly opened window she could hear the 
wolves lamenting on the ridge across the river, 
at the mouth of Deer, just as on the night of 
their first meeting. She told her lover just how 
he had been undermined by the trader Valle- 
champ, how she still believed in him, that she 
had been forbidden to write, and was only do- 
ing so with the door locked. She finished the 
letter with these words, “I do love you, forever, 
and forever, come what may.” 

In the morning she had errands at the French- 
ville store, over two miles away. Old Peter 
Mignot was the postmaster, and when blushingly 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


253 


she drew the bulky letter from her waist, he put 
his forefinger against his nose, as was his habit, 
saying, “Ah, mademoiselle, you have a lover !” 

“I may have, but please, monsieur, don’t tell 
a soul,” said the girl. 

Placing his hand on his heart, with old-time 
courtesy, he replied, “I promise, upon my word 
as a gentleman of Picardy.” After that Eliza- 
beth had no fear, she could rely on the word of 
a Frenchman. 

But fate was planning her fair bark to drift 
into different channels. Barely had the letter 
reached the Indian lover at Johnnycake when 
Israel Laverte appeared at Frenchville. The 
lumbermen from Maine, who were cutting 
square timber at the mouth of Ferney, broke up, 
and could not pay their hands. Israel, trusted 
man that he was, became their preferred credit- 
or. They had two rangy red roan horses ; 
these they gave him in settlement for his claim 
for the wages of his two younger brothers and 
self. The two younger lads rode the horses, and 
Israel walked on ahead, up through the valley of 
the Susquehanna, to Frenchville. At Keating’s 
Store they had to ford the river ; it was perilous 


254 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


business with the river running high. One of 
the boys was unhorsed and almost shared the 
fate of Elizabeth’s older brother. 

Getting the horses home in safety, his next 
thought was to visit Elizabeth. She was not 
in an unreceptive mood; her mind had been 
poisoned by doubts of the Seneca King’s true 
marital condition; it was refreshing to meet a 
really unmarried man. She was glad to accept 
his invitation to ride one of his horses to a har- 
vest picnic at Beausignor’s woods five miles 
away. The start was made on a clear October 
morning, with the heliotrope Knobs in full view 
all the way. Everything seemed big and grand 
on such a day. It was a more likely day for lov- 
ing than the calm, lengthy Sunday in August at 
the big picnic, when the King of the Senecas won 
the day. Elizabeth loved horses, it was a rare 
treat to ride the mettlesome roan colt, at the 
side of its mate, managed so nobly by the catch 
of the Keewaydin district, Israel Laverte. 

The young hunter never looked handsomer. 
His hair, worn long, was blacker than a raven’s 
wing, as were his small side-whiskers, his eyes, 
his lashes and brows. His long nose suggested 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


255 


that of the great Bonaparte, an engraving of 
whom as First Consul, hung above the fireplace 
in the Aubier residence. Israel was of her own 
race, a son of Picardy; even if he did drink, he 
was no wild Indian, no married man and father ; 
he was young, handsome, marriageable. Riding 
by his side, Elizabeth scrutinized him carefully 
in profile. He had a stronger face than the In- 
dian lad, it seemed to her. His skin was fairer, 
his mouth was straighter, oh, she loved him bet- 
ter. Israel must have divined her thoughts, 
for he asked her that day to marry him. She 
told him that she had half-promised the Seneca 
King, hut would give him up gladly. 

Israel showed surprise that she knew the In- 
dian. “He is a worthless dog, a married man, 
a mere savage, a wild man of the woods. ’ ’ Eliz- 
abeth bit her lips when she recalled how nicely 
the Indian had always spoken of Israel. The 
elder Aubiers, pleased mightily to hear of their 
daughter’s new affection, urged that the young 
people marry as quickly as possible. This they 
reasoned out would prevent a possible return of 
the “wild man.” 


256 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


Elizabeth in due season received an answer 
to her last letter to her Indian lover. She was 
too conscience-stricken to read it, and in the 
presence of her approving mother, threw it un- 
opened into the fireplace. 

The marriage took place in November, and 
after a wedding drive to Clearfield, the happy 
pair moved into a brand new log-cabin directly 
across the road from Richard Aubier’s water- 
mill. Never was a bride more contented than 
Elizabeth. All the girls on the heights of Kee- 
waydin, who had wished to win Israel, congratu- 
lated her; the priest Pere de laChau told her 
she was marrying the finest man she could find 
in a lifetime. There was not a cloud on the 
horizon. 

It was early in December when a letter came 
from the Indian King. He could not understand 
her strange silence. Were her letters lost, or 
abstracted from the mails? Did she mistrust 
him, did she fear that he would fail to appear 
to wed her, freed of previous matrimonial ties, at 
Christmas time ? He asked her for an answer ; it 
would ease his mind before starting. Elizabeth, 
considerably perplexed, showed the letter to her 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


257 


young husband. He laughed at the Indian’s 
high-flown language, his deep earnestness. He 
told her not to answer the letter. She said she 
was afraid the fellow would appear at Christmas 
time. “Damn him, let him come, I can attend 
to him,” was Israel’s laconic reply. 

Every day the bridegroom went to work in 
one of the deep ravines tributary to the river, 
leaving Elizabeth alone. She had no fear, how- 
ever, as her parents lived across the road. Old 
Richard Aubier and his helpers, the three big 
Coudriet boys could be over in a minute, and 
drive any wild Indian lover from the premises. 
Time rolled around; it was the week before 
Christmas. Elizabeth was busy garlanding the 
rooms of her cozy home with strings of ground- 
pine, interspersed with tea-berries. It was about 
nine o’clock in the morning when she heard a 
knocking. She got down from her chair, and ran 
to the door, flinging it open. Before her stood 
the stalwart form of the Seneca King, decked 
out in beaver furs, but with a sadder and more 
pensive look in his cavernous eyes, his sensitive 
mouth. He took off his beaver cap, he held out 
his hand. Elizabeth hardly deigned to grasp it. 


258 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


“You did not answer my letters, but I came 
anyhow, we must be married.” 

Elizabeth’s drooping lids fell lower, for an in- 
stant she feared to tell the truth. “Too late,” 
she faltered, “I am already married. I’m the 
wife of Israel Laverte.” 

The Indian stood speechless in the door-way, 
cap in hand. Finally mustering courage he 
spoke out. ‘ ‘ Could you not have trusted me un- 
til I returned; was my word of no value; were 
your words of love false?” 

“No, no,” stammered Elizabeth, turning 
deadly pale, “I loved you, but I was told you 
were a married man. You know, I felt I was 
displacing another woman and children. I could 
not do it.” 

“Oh, my dear Elizabeth, only woman I have 
or shall ever love,” said the Indian tears start- 
ing in the corners of his eyes, “you should have 
gone through fire and water for the man you 
loved. ’ ’ 

Elizabeth, seeking to end a profitless discus- 
sion, became cold, and answered, “I didn’t 
think there was any such man worth the risk of 
going through fire and water.” 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


259 


The Indian closed his lips tightly, the tears 
dried, he was captain of his soul. Without an- 
other word he reached into his deep coat pocket, 
taking out a small woolen bag. This he opened, 
disclosing a band of silver, interwoven with red 
ribbons. “This was to have been my wedding 
gift to you, the crown of the Seneca queens. It 
has been worn by many worthy women for five 
hundred years. Though you cannot marry me, 
please take it as a token of my love, of my sin- 
cerity. Take it as proof that there will never 
be another Queen, but you, Queen Elizabeth.” 

Mechanically she took it, hardly thanking him. 
The Indian looked at her calmly, with his deep 
eyes of love. ‘ ‘ Goodbye, my only love, ’ ’ he said, 
as he held out his hand. 

“Goodbye, friend, good luck to you,” was all 
she could muster in reply. With head erect, the 
last King of the mighty Senecas walked out of 
the yard, and up the centre of the road. 

Elizabeth tried on the crown ; it was a perfect 
fit; then she hid it in a cranny in the plaster 
back of the cupboard. For a moment she felt 
herself an Indian Queen. Calm as she was, she 
could not hang any more garlands of ground- 


260 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


pine that morning. When Israel came home in 
the evening she told him that the visit from the 
Indian had occurred, that he had been sent on 
his way. Nothing more was said on the subject; 
it had been treated with contemptuous jocular- 
ity which every satisfied husband gives to un- 
successful efforts to win his wife. 

Years passed, the Indian became a hazy tra- 
dition. Elizabeth went on living the common- 
place physical life, crushing her French soul. 
She took on flesh, veins stood out on her cheeks, 
dark puffs further closed her half-shut eyes. 
Her exquisite arched nose sunk in at the bridge, 
and thickened at the nostrils. The lips became 
gray and coarse. Her hair lost its golden tint and 
became a pasty brown. Her walk became slip- 
shod, she was no longer erect. Children were 
born, and brought up without ideals, without 
hopes. She never noticed the heliotrope color of 
the Knobs. Israel never seemed to get ahead, he 
drank considerably, and when in his cups was 
coarse and abusive. At the time of their mar- 
riage it had been planned that they would move 
into a larger house in a couple of years, but they 
never got it. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


261 


When old Richard Aubier died, his widow 
kept the spacious homestead, and the young 
daughters when they married moved in with her. 
When the old lady passed away, one of the girls 
who had married a steady youth named Andrew 
Gery bought the house from the estate. 

Israel Laverte at the age of sixty passed away, 
and was buried in the pine-shaded cemetery back 
of St. Mary ’s-on-the-Mountain. 

Elizabeth grieved over him, but managed to 
rally from the bereavement. Her family noticed 
that she became quieter, gentler, more motherly, 
after he had gone. Once or twice her children 
observed her sitting by the kitchen window fond- 
ling a band of silver, interwoven with faded red 
ribbons. It must have been a gift from Israel, 
in the old courting days, they thought. The 
aged woman lived on until her seventy-eighth 
year, when she passed away after an illness of 
several months. On her sickbed she asked her 
eldest son to bring her the silver band, from its 
hiding place back of the cupboard. She kept it 
before her all the time on the counterpane, rub- 
bing it with her knotted, palsied fingers. She ex- 
pressed a desire that it be buried with her. The 


262 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


children would have granted this request, but in 
the excitement of the demise, it was left lying 
on the window sill. After the return from the 
cemetery it was found. Michael, the eldest son, 
personally took it and placed it on the grave, 
where the wayward myrtle soon covered it. 

During all these years Sammy Jimmerson, the 
Indian King, was living quietly on his small 
farm on the island near Johnny cake. He never 
re-married, though he became reconciled in later 
years to his children and grandchildren, the re- 
sult of his temporary union with the plain-bred 
squaw. He was especially proud of one of his 
grandsons, Jimmy Jacobson, who became a great 
hunter, and killed the last elk in Pennsylvania. 
In his ninetieth year he expressed a desire to re- 
visit some of the hunting grounds of his youth. 
His descendants tried to dissuade him, but 
against his strong will, they were powerless. He 
started alone, laden only with a little knapsack. 
In a deep pocket of his black great-coat he care- 
fully packed the crown of Red Jacket, the sym- 
bol of authority of five centuries of Senecas. He 
was a striking looking figure at the time of his 
last pilgrimage, this last of the line of Red Jack- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


263 


et. His leonine head was covered with snow- 
white hair, which hung down to his shoulders. 
He was still erect, and very broad, but he car- 
ried an ironwood staff instead of the rifle with 
the silver inlaid stock of his youth. His deepset 
dark eyes glowed sadly as of yore, there was 
more of the eagle than ever to the bold curve of 
his nose. His relatives wondered where he was 
going, as he would not enter into particulars. 

He headed for the southeast, travelling by 
easy stages. Some nights he stopped at hotels, 
on others in farmhouses or lumber-camps. He 
seemed well provided with money, paying his 
bills with gold. He was well received every- 
where, and was remembered by many of the 
older people. In the evenings he regaled his 
hosts with stories of the days when Indians 
were supreme, when the Clearfield mountains 
were a trackless wilderness, abounding with all 
kinds of game. The little children clustered 
about the kindly old man ; they might never see 
a real Indian Chief again. 

He arrived at Frenchville, dusty and travel 
worn, late one October afternoon. He put up 
at the hotel where he inquired about his old 


264 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


friends; all of them were dead. He found he 
had time enough before supper to visit the ceme- 
tery on the hill. It was an impressive sight to 
watch the grand old Indian, wending his way to 
God’s acre under the pines. He arrived there 
just at the last moments of the golden hour, 
when the entire landscape gradually sloping 
down from the distant Knobs was gilded the 
color of molten metal. He met the grave-digger 
coming through the iron-gate, and asked him 
where Elizabeth Aubier, or Laverte, was buried. 
The place was pointed out and the old Indian 
quickly located it, although no stone had as yet 
been erected. On reaching the spot, the vener- 
able chieftain knelt beside the mound, stroking 
the heavy growth of myrtle that completely car- 
peted it. Something smooth and cold touched 
his fingers, beneath the myrtle. He lay hold of 
it, and drew it out. To his surprise it was the 
crown of the Seneca Queens. A happy thrill 
shot through him; his only love had thought of 
him in the long intervening years, perhaps had 
asked to have the crown placed on her grave. 
Drawing the King’s crown from his pocket, he 
lay the two side by side; at the head of the 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


265 


mound. Then he buried his face in his hands 
and wept softly. 

As he arose, he said half to himself, half to the 
lofty, listening white pines: “Oh, Elizabeth, 
Queen of the Senecas the last to assume the title, 
and the first to hold it forever, in the eternal 
world of death, after nearly seventy years, we 
are together again. Our next meeting, which 
will be soon, will be closer and fonder, in the 
land of the spirit. Our crowns will rest side by 
side until I receive my call.” Leaning more 
heavily on his staff than was his wont, the grand- 
son of Red Jacket retraced his way towards the 
boarding house at the foot of the hill. Just as 
he was crossing the highroad he met the land- 
lady’s daughter, her hands beneath her checked 
apron, running towards him. ‘ ‘ I was just going 
after you, sir, supper’s half over.” 

“That is all right,” said the old man, “I do 
not need supper, my spirit has been fed for the 
first time in nearly seventy years. ’ ’ There was a 
look of glory, of content, in his deepset eyes. 


XV. 


THE HEADLESS MAN. 
(Story of an old River Town.) 


HAT ghost of the stage-driver 
who beat his horses wasn’t 
the only spook I’ve seen,” 
said the old grave-digger. “I 
have seen dozens of them, so 
many that it is hard to keep 
them all in mind. It would 
be difficult to tell which was 
the queerest one, they were all 
so strange.” The old man’s big brown eyes 
kindled with reminiscent fire, as he sat down 
on a marble slab marking all that was mortal of 
some Scotch-Irish celebrity, prepared to relate 
another marvellous experience. It was a bright 
November morning, with the earth browning 
after the white frost of the night before. Except 
for being in an ancient cemetery, it seemed hard- 
ly the time of day to relate a ghostly experience. 

266 



© 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


267 


“When I was a young lad,” began the old 
man, “I used to be out pretty late at night, 
courting the girls or playing cards. It wasn't 
anything for me to get home at two or three 
o'clock in the morning, midnight was early. 
There were three sisters, triplets, who lived near 
the dam who were quite popular in town. They 
were North Irish girls, and had only moved into 
our community recently. Their father was a 
camp boss at a big job near the mouth of Hyner 
Run. With two other young fellows, I spent 
many an evening in their society. They were 
good natured and witty, so the time passed rap- 
idly. However when the clock struck twelve, 
their mother would come to the head of the stairs 
and call to them that it was time to go to bed. 
That would have made some young men angry, 
but we liked the girls too much to care about 
such a trifle. We merely picked up our caps and 
said goodnight. Poor girls, they are all dead 
now; I dug the grave for the last one at High- 
land last April. Well that is a long time ago 
since we did our courting, it was the last year 
of the war! 


268 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


One night in February, it was real cold; 
twelve o ’clock sent us out into the street as usual. 
Two of the boys lived in the upper end of town, 
so they followed River Street, in that direction. 
I lived over near the lower railroad bridge, so 
cut across town, in the direction of the tracks. 
It was about ten minutes past twelve when I 
reached the crossing, which was situated about 
half a square below where the Pennsylvania sta- 
tion now stands. There was no moon, every- 
thing looked one sombre mass of black, there was 
no dividing line between the mountains and the 
sky. 

When I got on the centre of the cross-over I 
noticed a lantern flickering; it seemed to be a 
hundred yards further down the track. It 
must be in the hands of a track walker, I 
thought. Being in no great hurry I waited to 
have a word with the fellow, who appeared to be 
moving in my direction. I always liked to talk 
with people whom I met at night, in the dark- 
ness. There seemed then to be picturesqueness 
to the dullest personalities. He seemed to be 
moving rapidly, and was beside me in an incred- 
ibly short space of time. I turned to wish him 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


269 


good evening, when to my horror, I saw the fig- 
ure was headless. Where the head had been sev- 
ered close to the shoulders was an ugly red gash ; 
I could see it plainly by the lantern-light. To 
my further dismay I noticed that the creature 
carried the severed head under his left arm ; with 
the right he was swinging the lantern. I was 
about to call out ‘stop your fooling,’ for I had 
recently seen the Rogers statuette of Ichabod 
Crane and the Headless Horseman, where the 
latter carried a pumpkin with eyes, nose and 
mouth cut in it, under one arm, when the being, 
or whatever it was, edged up close beside me. 

I had pretty strong nerves, for I had seen the 
stage-driver’s ghost, and a couple of others, so 
I tried to hold my ground. The figure, which I 
might add was that of a big, powerful man, 
threw such a lot of strength into his task that I 
almost tumbled over on the rails. I wanted to 
cry out that I wished to go to my home down 
the track, but I recollected that if this should 
happen to be a ghost, I would spoil everything 
by speaking first. Evidently the headless one 
wanted me to go up the tracks for some reason. 
While I was not particularly anxious to get 


270 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


home, I hated to be forced to do something 
against my will. I was not in a mood to fight, 
so I concluded to appease the figure by going in 
the direction he desired. So I turned about and 
started to stroll up the tracks towards the sta- 
tion. My pace did not seem to please the figure. 
He edged up beside me again, urging me to walk 
faster and faster. 

“The railroad ran through the centre of the 
sleeping town. I noticed that there was not a 
single light in any of the houses. Most of them 
were two story frame structures, with doors 
opening on the level with the railroad and the 
street. I had often seen people on the loneliest 
highways at midnight; here not a soul was stir- 
ring this night. I did not even see a stray cat. 
As we neared the station I saw a dim light burn- 
ing in one of the windows. It was the telegraph- 
er and agent, who kept open until after the ar- 
rival of the twelve-forty Philadelphia Express. 
When we came abreast of the lighted window I 
wanted to stop, to get away from my tormentor. 
I peered through the window, but the operator 
was temporarily absent from his desk. In my 
moment of indecision the thought flashed through 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


271 


my mind that perhaps this headless spectre had 
something he wanted to show me, a spread rail, 
or a burned-out tie further up the track. If so, 
there would be no time to hunt the operator. My 
watch said it was fifteen minutes of train time. 
It would do no good anyway, as there wasn’t aii 
office open nearer than Rattlesnake. The trou- 
ble might even be a mile up track. I struck a 
more lively gait, which seemed to please the 
ghost tremendously. Divining that at last I un- 
derstood him, was in sympathy with him, he 
forged on ahead ; I had to walk lively to keep up 
to him. 

“My guess was right, I walked nearly a mile 
before I found why I was wanted. The time was 
running dangerously close to the train’s sched- 
ule; several times I looked at my watch by the 
rays of the ghost’s lantern. Every step I took I 
carefully scrutinized the rails, the condition of 
the ties, the state of the road-bed. I was not a 
railroader, but I lived near enough to the tracks 
to know the kind of defects which caused bad 
accidents. 

4 ‘ For over half a mile our way led through the 
outskirts of the town, or along the river bank. 


272 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


There was a steep bank rising fifty feet above 
the track, on the side furthest from the river. 
Finally we came to a bend in the line, where we 
entered a deep cut ; the bank on the side nearest 
the river was at least thirty feet in height. It 
was so far from the shore that it would not have 
paid to excavate it away. It was a melancholy, 
lonely spot, and darker here than anywhere we 
had traversed. 

“When we came to the blackest part of the 
cut, the spectre raised his lantern and swung 
it wildly. It seemed to be a signal for me to be 
on the alert, to meet a possible emergency. I 
looked ahead; by the lamplight I could see a 
huge pile of old ties on the track. There were 
at least forty of them. A dastardly attempt had 
been made to wreck the express. It was at a 
point too, where the train still traveled at a 
high rate of speed, before it began to slow down 
for the station. I knew now what the ghost 
wanted ; it would be a big task, I figured. Just 
then I heard the faint echo of the train whistle ; 
it was probably at the crossing half a mile above 
Quinn ’s Run, and a mile and a half from where 
the ties were piled. It was a horrible moment of 
























, 













. 



























THE GREAT ISLAND 





SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


273 


suspense, but I set to work with a will. When I 
started to roll the ties away, I found to my hor- 
ror that they had been spiked together; they 
formed a compact mass, that a Hercules could 
not budge without an axe and a spike-mall. 
There was no use wasting time trying to do the 
impossible; I carried no implement bigger than 
a Barlow, and rocks could not hammer the im- 
pediment loose. 

Meanwhile the ghost was standing by, holding 
aloft his lantern, so I could comprehend my job. 
I threw myself against the solid structure, then 
shook my head. I pointed up the track ; I made 
a signal as if he must stop the train. For a 
moment it seemed that he failed to understand 
me, so I seized the lantern, and ran in the direc- 
tion of the on-coming express. I did not look 
back to see what became of the ghost. The train 
whistled again, this time for the river bridge, 
half a mile above, in a minute more it would be 
stopped or cause one of the worst wrecks in the 
history of the road. I thought of the poor souls 
asleep in the coaches, who would be hurled 
into eternity, of the conductors and trainmen, 


274 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


of all the stricken families; I must stop the 
train at any cost. 

‘ ‘ I had another reason, a somewhat selfish one, 
for my intense vigilance. The cut was a long 
and deep one, I could not get out of it before 
the train hit the awful barrier; if I was found 
half way up the bank, or up or down the track 
by any possible survivors, I would be accused of 
the foul deed. I must stop it or gladly die in 
the attempt. 

“I could hear the train slow down a trifle as 
the long line of coaches rumbled over the old 
wooden bridge, one of the few bridges, by the 
way, which later survived the Flood of 1865. 
Then it seemed to increase speed again, and came 
bounding towards me through the night. I ran 
as fast as I could, tripping now and then on the 
ties, but determined to get as far as possible 
from the tie-pile before beginning my flagging 
operations. I ran until I was breathless. Then 
I planted myself in the centre of the track, and 
began waving my lantern. Soon the giant head- 
light, and the big bulbous smokestack, belching 
grey smoke and sparks, hove in sight. It seemed 
as big as a mountain; as impossible to stop as 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


275 


a mountain landslide. It was a cold night; I 
could hardly expect to see the engineman’s head 
leaning out of the cab-window. I kept on wav- 
ing, waving, waving. To my gesticulations, I 
added terrific shouts; I had a powerful voice, 
but all sound was lost in the roar of the oncom- 
ing express. I could not detect that my lantern 
was seen, and I had to jump off the track to 
avoid being run down. 

“There was only a single track, I had barely 
room to lay flat against the smooth earth of the 
bank, and avoid being sucked under the heavy 
black mail-cars and coaches. I hardly dared 
look down the track as the long line of cars 
swept past me. As the last one lurched by, I 
felt that some motion of the hand-brakes was in 
effect; it rocked unsteadily, though I saw noth- 
ing of any brakeman. I heard a second after- 
wards a hideous rasping and squeaking, and 
wailing, like we hear on logging-cars to-day 
when the brakes are thrown on at a trestle on 
some narrow-guage ; the train almost left the 
track in its sudden halting; I knew all were 
saved. 


276 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


“For half a minute I lay on the ground, un- 
able to get up, or speak. I was crawling to my 
feet when I saw the conductor, with face white 
as a sheet, carrying a lantern, and accompanied 
by several passengers running in my direction. 
I was standing up, but shaking like a quaking- 
asp, when the parties reached me. They held 
out their hands, congratulating me, and calling 
me a brave man. Other passengers and train- 
men poured from the cars and I was soon sur- 
rounded by a shouting crowd. Some of the men 
slapped me on the back so many times it added 
to the nausea I felt after my long run. One of 
the passengers offered me a twenty dollar gold 
piece. I wanted it badly, but I knew I was en- 
titled to no credit for what I had done ; it was the 
ghost’s doing, so I refused it. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Tell me your name, son, and we ’ll make up 
a purse of gold and send it to your mother’ said 
the same passenger, undaunted by my refusal. 
There was a chorus of ‘yes, yes, he’s saved our 
lives’ and so on. I deliberately gave them a 
wrong name and address in town. Several of 
them wrote it in their note books. I felt sorry 
a moment later, as someone in the throng might 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


277 


recognize me, especially as I knew quite a few 
trainmen. But all faces appeared strange to me, 
I could make my escape. If credit was due, it 
was to the headless ghost, but this I could not 
very well explain. 

“I could not get away very fast, as everyone 
wanted to know how I found the tie-pile, and 
how soon before the train appeared. I explained 
everything in detail, with becoming modesty. 
No one could understand my modesty, especially 
when I seemed so indifferent to rewards. 

‘ ‘ In the excitment everyone had forgotten 
about removing the obstruction. They were 
amazed when I told them that the ties were 
spiked together. It took the engineman and fire- 
man, the brakeman and passengers half an hour 
to get it off the track. They worked with axes, 
saws, with picks and pokers, gathered from the 
emergency kits in the coaches and from the en- 
gine. Everyone from the engineman down in- 
sisted on shaking hands with me before the train 
started. The engineman, a queer fat old fellow, 
scratched his head saying : * It was the closest 
running I ever made after I saw you, it was my 
quickest stop.’ 


278 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


‘Say, pop,’ said the young fireman, just as 
they were climbing into the cab, ‘did you notice 
a man down by the tie-pile, he seemed to duck 
back of it just as we stopped.’ 

‘ No, I did not ’ said the old man with surprise. 

‘Could he have been the wrecker?’ I believe 
it was the headless man. 

‘ ‘ There was no time for further talk, the train 
was now nearly an hour late, so all hands got 
on board. I even declined to ride on the train as 
far as town. It is a wonder my actions did not 
arouse some suspicion. But everyone was too 
excited. I waited until the red tail lights 
were out of sight, and then leisurely wended 
my way down the tracks towards home. 
At the first crossing I left the ties, and struck 
across town in the direction of the mountains. 
I was home and in bed by three-thirty. 

“The next day all the town was agog with the 
story of the dastardly attempt to wreck the 
Philadelphia express. Everyone wanted to find 
the stranger who prevented a horrible catastro- 
phe so nobly. I said to myself: ‘If there is any 
glory or rewards, they go to the headless man, not 
me, I will keep out of it. ’ It was a seven days 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


279 


wonder; like events of even greater magnitude, 
in due season it was forgotten. 

“I used to like to talk to the railroaders, es- 
pecially after the wreck. One of the section 
hands, quite an old man, told me about a brother 
of his, the first track- walker on the section after 
the road was built, several years before, who had 
been beheaded by the Philadelphia express, the 
night of its first run. ‘ That was a couple of years 
back, you mind it,’ he said. In a moment it 
flashed through my mind, the headless man was 
the spirit of that track- walker ; it was he who 
had saved the train, the night when I figured as 
an unwilling hero. Yet I hated to tell the old 
man I had seen his brother’s ghost. Doubtless the 
spectre had haunted the railroad during these 
years, watching jealously the safety of others. 
The ghost had conquered my reluctance, and had 
brought me to the scene, in the nick of time. I 
had known at least one ghostly hero. If such 
deeds are of consequence in the land of shades, 
this track-walker has earned a blessed immor- 
tality.” 


XVI. 


HIS RIVAL’S GHOST. 
(Story of Buffalo Creek.) 


HE shadows of the long autumn 
afternoon, vivifying in its 
crispness, were deepening 
among the hemlocks and 
laurel as Ambrose Gailly 
drew near the Forest House. 
The ride through the Narrows, 
which seemed so interminable 
to those who do not know na- 
ture, was on this occasion unbelievably short. 
Perhaps in those days it did seem shorter, even 
to the most prosaic travelers. 

Most of the original timber, pine, hemlock and 
beech, was standing, completely arching the 
moist, narrow trail. Under these forest mon- 
archs grew tall masses of rhododendron, and 
branching laurel, interspersed with young ma- 
ples now tinting gold and scarlet in the frosty 
280 



SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


281 


nights of early autumn. Sweet springs gushed 
from among the moss-grown rocks at intervals of 
every mile or so, making little rivulets along the 
road, through which the horse’s hoofs splashed 
audibly. Late summer flowers peeped here and 
there, and once a belated orchid, green striped 
with red, was met with. Wild life was plentiful 
in this twelve mile glade. 

Lewis Dorman, on the previous Christmas eve, 
had slain the nine foot panther, famed in song 
and story, on Shreiner, not so far away, and 
had brought the carcass to the Forest House. Its 
mate, and several lusty cubs were said to still 
prowl about on the heights of Jack’s and Shade, 
whining vendetta. 

Wolves and foxes, wildcats and catamounts, 
as well as numerous bears, even a brown bear or 
two, felt at ease in the forest depths. Ambrose 
Gailly saw more than one set of bear tracks 
in the mucky road. Grouse frequently flew up 
from their covers at his approach. Once a covey 
of quail trotted in single file in front of the 
horse. The “spray of bell-like notes” of the 
wood-robin echoed and re-echoed among the hem- 
lock tangles ; high up, among the yellow pines on 


282 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


the summits came the mournful yet sweet ‘ ‘ a-coo, 
coo, coo ’ ’ of the turtle dove. 

Once he saw a big yellow porcupine, which 
seemed to take no heed of him. All this was the 
joy of the forest primitive. There was some- 
what of a clearing on the brow of a hill, the last 
he must cross, before reaching the old hotel. 
The choicest pines had been removed, the rest 
had been girdled and left to die, along with the 
hemlocks which could not endure separation 
from their lifelong companions, the pines. There 
was an old saying among the backwoodsmen, 
“when you cut the pines, the hemlocks will cry 
themselves to death.’ ’ This was true, but the 
real reason was that the roots of hemlocks grow 
along the surface of the ground, and when the 
pines are cut the sunlight falls heavily on the 
tender fibres, killing the grand old trees. It 
is even said that all who walk through a hem- 
lock forest, except those who are moccasined will 
kill trees in their stroll. 

Around the dead trees and stumps of this 
clearing, grew a sparse crop of buckwheat, the 
settlers’ delight. Above it a few wild pigeons 
fluttered. Some of the mammoth pine stumps 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


283 


fired days before were still smouldering, but the 
buckwheat seemed to thrive on the constantly 
falling ashes of these miniature volcanoes. In 
the distance the Red Hills were apparent, now 
lavender tinted, in the fading light. Beyond the 
clearing the trail led again into the dense orig- 
inal forest. Ambrose Gailly heard a roaring 
sound, to a townsman it would indicate proxim- 
ity to some great railway, with an express train 
thundering past but he recognized it as wild 
pigeons returning to their roost. He looked 
aloft, but the timber met in an arch above the 
road, he felt as if he was crossing under a rail- 
road bridge, so deep was the intonation above 
his head. Straight upward, out of a mass of 
pine boughs, flew a pigeon hawk, piercing the 
heavy canopy with unerring instinct, bound to 
retrieve by nightfall, a few of the laggards or 
invalids of the pigeon myriads. 

Through a quarter of a mile of forest dark- 
ness, and then the road emerged into another 
and larger clearing, with the Forest House and 
the tumbling run standing in bold relief, triply 
distinct in the last phases of the golden hour. 
Several men armed with shot-guns were running 


284 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


across the clearing, pointing in the direction 
from whence the rider had come. He turned in 
his saddle, and could see the pigeons in their 
majestic flight above the forest. Stretching 
across the broad valley from mountain to moun- 
tain, in a purple-black cordon, possibly a mile 
wide, they darkened what was left of the sun. 
There would be a pigeon supper at the Forest 
House. 

In front of the hotel was the tavern sign, on 
a tall pole, a large circular plaque decorated by 
a golden, many antlered stag, painted on a 
black background, with “ Forest House, 1856’ ’ 
lettered below. Landlord, helpers and hostlers 
were too busy acting as provenders of pigeon 
pot-pie to care much about a traveler’s arrival. 
Ambrose Gailly sat on his horse for several min- 
utes before anyone appeared. When the door 
opened, it disclosed Mabelle Banks, the Yankee 
landlord’s fair-haired daughter. Wiping her 
pretty hands on her apron, she began to laugh. 
“Oh, ’Brose Gailly” she said, “if you had not 
known us so well, I wouldn’t have blamed you if 
you had ridden on, with such a reception. The 
whole household has gone crazy about those wild 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


285 


pigeons. Sometimes when they go off on a 
rampage like that they don’t get back until after 
dark. ’ ’ 

“Well,” replied the horseman good naturedly, 
“even if I had been a stranger, I would have 
hesitated about riding past. It’s a good ten 
miles to the next public house, and it will be 
dark in less than an hour. ’ ’ The stalwart young 
man swung out of his old post-boy saddle, and 
after shaking hands with the pretty girl, led his 
big brown horse to the cozy, old-fashioned barn. 
He knew every stall in this old place, so much 
like a stable in one of Morland ’s pictures ; he had 
stabled there time and again in his calling as a 
drover. As he walked towards the barn, he 
began to hum an old tune, “Billy Grimes, the 
drover.” When he was upset, or downcast, he 
invariably hummed it, though he doubtless saw 
no connection between the ridiculous personage 
in the song and himself. 

The sight of Mabelle Banks had sent his mind 
into an unpleasant train of thought. He had 
known this girl before he had met his bride; 
both girls had been barmaids in mountain tav- 
erns. Why he married Reba Stoneman in pref- 


286 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


erence to Mabelle Banks was a question he could 
never answer when he saw the latter. Side by 
side, Reba was the prettier, and a couple of years 
the youngest but there were other controlling 
reasons which weighted the scales in the oppo- 
site direction. Yet these he had refused to con- 
sider during the melting pot of passion called 
the courtship. He had loved Reba with a flame 
more intense and jealous than he had any other 
girl during his checkered and eventful career. 
It sufficed to win the girl, but it left its scars 
afterwards. He never felt easy when he was 
away from her; despite her oft-repeated love- 
story, her apparent devotion, he mistrusted her. 
He felt certain he could have trusted Mabelle, 
and now when passion’s fires were calming, 
knew he loved her as much as he ever did the 
girl whom he had married. 

Despite their cordial greetings, both Gailly 
and Mabelle felt self-conscious in each other’s 
presence. It was always that way since his mar- 
riage. He knew why he felt thus, it was because 
he loved her, and though he refused to admit it, 
his soul told him he had wed the wrong girl. 
He wondered if Mabelle ’s embarrassment arose 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


287 


from the fact that she still loved him; it would 
be better if they never met, if such were the case. 

In the old barn, with its sweet odors of hay 
and fodder, he soon had his faithful horse feed- 
ing away, and bedded for the night. When he 
returned to the open air, dusk was falling fast, 
ashes of roses were replaced by steel grey, as the 
prevailing tone. He paused a moment, to admire 
the tavern sign, the golden stag — which after all 
these years still hangs before the Forest House — 
for even a drover or a traveling man can be sen- 
timental, an admirer of the beautiful. 

Then he unswung the old-fashioned latch, and 
entered the lobby. Several tallow-dips illum- 
inated the big low-ceilinged room. There was 
one on the table, and two on one of the broad 
window-sills. A cheerful beechwood fire was 
blazing in the huge fireplace with a deep-seated 
chair, as if placed there recently, before it. Al- 
though stoves were in general use in the moun- 
tains, even in 1869, the Forest House still clung 
to its open fireplaces, still had the crane hanging. 
Patronized by lumbermen, drovers and hunters, 
the blazing logs promoted sociability, at least 
such was the opinion of landlord Azariah Banks, 


288 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


late of Vermont, an innkeeper of forty years 
experience. He had conducted the Forest House 
since its opening nearly fourteen years before, 
it had never been the scene of quarreling or 
disorder, in a business way it was a pronounced 
success. 

Banks had come to Central Pennsylvania to 
look for a missing relative, a young riverman, 
and becoming impressed with the possibilities 
of the new country, bought the recently con- 
structed Forest House, and prospered. Its walls 
had echoed many jollities, when rivermen, with 
well-filled purses homeward bound, stopped there 
for the night, when Civil War soldiers, nearing 
their homes and loved ones in the valleys, spent 
a night to break the journey, when hunters came 
there to rest on their homeward way, and display 
the trophies of the chase. 

The biggest jollification was when Lewis Dor- 
man had brought in his panther on the last 
Christmas morning, and a swarm of mountain- 
eers attracted to the scene, induced him to re- 
main all night and fiddle for an impromptu 
dance, for Dorman was as great a fiddler as he 
was a nimrod. With the panther propped up in 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


289 


a lifelike position on the mantel-shelf, his maw 
held open by a skewer, and plenty of lights 
and garlands of ground pine, with cider and 
punch, and good things generally, the merry 
crowd of mountain boys and girls, some of the 
boys wearing their old soldier suits, danced from 
eight in the evening until eight the next morning. 

Ambrose Gailly had happened to be there that 
night; he spent most of the time in the kitchen 
with Mabelle. Neither had cared to dance much, 
they were deeply in love. When the young man 
rode away that brisk morning, behind his drove 
of sixty Brush Valley steers, he imagined he was 
going to marry Mabelle. Yet he had left the 
words unsaid, until the next time. But is there 
a ‘ ‘ next time ’ ’ for anything we really want to do 
now? Experience, the bitterest experience, 
teaches us “no.” 

As he seated himself in the comfortable chair, 
and gazed into the translucent beechwood blaze, 
pictures of that eventful night, of but nine 
months before rose up vividly, torturing him. 
He could not trust his wife, he knew not why. 
He knew he loved her, that she was younger, 
more beautiful, more bewitching than Mabelle 


290 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


Banks, yet he was not satisfied. Folding his 
arms, he began reviewing his courtship with the 
woman he had married, and how Mabelle’s in- 
fluence had grown less. The night was very 
still, until he heard the landlord’s dog barking 
outside. Reba Stoneman was an orphan, he had 
pitied her for that. She had to work for her 
living in the tavern at Antes Gap, tending bar, 
an ignoble calling for one of her rare beauty. 
Before her character had fully formed, she had 
been betrayed by an older man, and this evil 
reputation had made her the target for all man- 
ner of unscrupulous attacks. She had thrown 
off her early influences, developed a beautiful 
spirit, she needed pure, honorable love to reward 
her conscientious up-building. Ambrose had al- 
ways admired her beauty, there was much of the 
distressed Magdalen in the drooping corners of 
her rather thin mouth, in the big soulful rock- 
blue eyes that most persons thought were brown, 
because the long lashes were that color, in the 
lachrymal wave of her ash-brown hair, the dead- 
ly pallor of her countenance. He had talked 
hours at a stretch with her, and knew her well, 
long before he felt sure he loved her. Love must 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


291 


have grown out of pity, for he found it full- 
grown in his heart one day. He was miles off at 
the time, in the Young Woman’s Creek country, 
but he traveled to Antes tavern, and told it 
to his beloved, on the little balcony that over- 
looked the sunset bathed Alleghanies, rising in 
castellated peaks to the north and west. She had 
placed her pale hand in his, and then her cheek 
against his, then sat on his lap, and in a perfect 
rapture, they had felt themselves one. She told 
him how she had loved him ever since the first 
time she saw him, three years previously, how he 
had always appealed to her as different from any 
man she had ever met, and so beautiful. She 
declared she could not marry him, as he knew 
her past, that she could be no man’s bride, let 
alone his. He had pled, but in vain. He had 
gone away down-hearted, thinking only of her, 
that he must marry her. It was during those 
melancholy days that he entirely forgot the ex- 
istence of Mabelle Banks. Eventually he in- 
duced Reba to marry him, had installed her in 
a comfortable brick cottage in Jersey Shore, on 
a street which overlooked the bend in the river, 
where it was shaded by spreading elm and willow 


292 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


trees. It had been an ideallic existence, on the 
wedding trip to Harrisburg, and in the home ; he 
had never been so happy in his life. 

Alas when he went away on his first business 
expedition, he felt the presence of the other man, 
he mistrusted his bride. He fought the foul 
fancy night and day, it was like a canker on his 
passion, he found no antidote. All he could see 
was the great, vicious, bloated form of the horse- 
dealer who had ruined his wife, when she was 
sixteen, and little more than a child. One of- 
fense might have been condoned, but the fact 
that the relations had continued for a couple of 
years at least seemed unforgivable in his fever- 
ish mental state. The man might come back, 
in the girl ’s heart might lurk a spark of regard, 
capable of revival, for wasn’t he her first love? 
No woman ever ceases loving the man she loves 
first, whether the love be spiritual or carnal. In 
some cases carnal love lasts longest. If there is 
doubt as to this let every man ask his heart. 
Ambrose Gailly’s business trips became hell on 
earth. Reba noticed his altered appearance, but 
he told her he was expanding his business, was 
naturally fatigued. All these things flung them- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


293 


selves through his mind this autumn evening, as 
he sat before the fire, at the Forest House. His 
face was set like a vise, his eyes rigid, when 
Mabelle opened the door to tell him supper was 
ready. 

“Just to think, those crazy hunters haven’t re- 
turned yet ’ ’ she said to put him in good humor. 
The girl knew he was unhappy, and guessed the 
cause. All through supper she waited on him, 
he quite forgot his ills. After the meal they sat 
together by the fire, until the hunters came in. 
They had killed so many pigeons, they said, 
they would have to go after them with the 
spring- wagon next morning. “We’ve got them 
in a pile so high” said Azariah Banks, indicat- 
ing the height of the mantel-shelf. They had 
brought some pigeons with them, slim, slate-col- 
ored squabs, and they insisted on roasting some 
of these before bed-time. There was a royal 
feast, which did not break up until half an hour 
before midnight. It took time to pick and clean 
the birds, to cook them right. 

Mabelle, always assiduous, lighted Ambrose up 
the stairs. She even went in his room, his favor- 
ite little room under the roof, to see that the 


294 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


candle was burning properly. The young man 
felt like taking her in his arms, he knew she 
would not mind. Yet she was his ideal, he would 
do nothing with her to lower his self-respect. 

He had ridden that day all the way from 
Early sburg, with many side trips on the way to 
see farmers about cattle, so it was not long before 
he fell asleep. The last sounds he heard were the 
disconcerted katy-dids, frost was making a panic 
in their orchestra. But he was not to sleep long. 
He rose up in bed, half awake, to count the old 
New England clock on the stairs chime twelve. 
Then he heard footsteps in the room. It was 
pitchy dark outside, so no light came through 
the shutters. He called out “whose there V 1 
He got a gruff reply: “It’s me, Jake Bendel.” 
To his horror he was in the room with the brutal 
horse trader who had wronged his wife. How 
came this fellow here? He had not registered 
at the hotel up to bed-time. There were some 
matches on the little table-stand by the bed, he 
clutched at them, lighted one. By the flickering 
bluish light he beheld his rival, more bloated, 
hideous, and red-bearded than ever. Springing 
out of bed with a horrible string of oaths, though 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


295 


he was usually not profane, he rushed at the 
huge, soggy figure. Grabbing at the throat, he 
administered a terrific kick, as though to throw 
him through the door and down-stairs. To his 
horror and pain, he did not kick Jake Bendel, 
but drove his bare foot clear through the panel 
of the heavy walnut door. Crazed with suffer- 
ing, mental and physical, he sank back on the 
bed, where he lay for half an hour. 

Then he lit his candle. His foot was terribly 
mashed and bleeding, the floor and the bed were 
stained with blood. Tying up his wounds as 
best he could, he lay awake until daybreak, curs- 
ing himself. He had not seen Jake Bendel at all, 
it was a dream, conjured up from his senseless 
distrust of his loving, beautiful, young wife. He 
had made a laughing stock of himself; he must 
get away. Putting on his stocking and shoe with 
much effort, he crept downstairs. He left his 
lodging money on the lobby table, getting out- 
doors unnoticed. He went to the stable, finding 
his horse rested, and ready to sally forth. He 
watered him, he saddled him, he started down 
the trail towards Youngmanstown in the misty 
light. He was utterly ashamed of himself, and 


296 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


blamed it all on admiring Mabelle Banks too 
much, and through her to think too many unfa- 
vorable ideas concerning his wife. It was best he 
did not see her again, she was perhaps an evil 
genius. He did not let her enter his mind all day, 
even what she would say when she found him 
gone, or the insane condition of his bedroom. 
That night he sat up late in the cheery public- 
house at Youngmanstown. He was not afraid 
to go to bed, but he preferred jolly company to 
the solitude of a cold upstairs room. It was 
nearly midnight when a belated traveler ap- 
peared. Like many of those already present in 
the barroom, he was a stockman. “Heard the 
news?” he said almost with his first breath, 
“Jake Bendel died suddenly last night at the 
Eagle Hotel in Watsonburg. Some say he took a 
dose of rat poison. He was an evil cuss and 
suffered remorse at times, but I doubt it that he 
would suicide, guess he just played out.” 

Ambrose Gailly, man of the world, man of 
facts, turned pale. He placed his hand for sup- 
port against the hot pipe of the stove, and jump- 
ed away in pain. ‘ 1 Give me some ice water, 
Benny,” he said to the bartender, “I guess 111 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


297 


go to bed.” “Those stockmen hang together 
pretty close,” drawled an old farmer, after the 
young man had gone upstairs. “Gailly seemed 
to take old Jake’s death powerful hard.” 




XVII. 


CANOE PLACE. 
(Story of the Cherry Tree.) 


ISTORY seems to be strangely 
reticent about the canoe trip 
made by William Penn to the 
headwaters of the West 
Branch of the Susquehanna, 
and his promise, given at this 
time to the Indian girl, Rose- 
Marie, not to continue his 
province further westward. 
Undoubtedly the time will come when the sub- 
ject of this momentous trip will be carefully in- 
vestigated and given to the public. Meanwhile 
it must slumber and grow less authoritative. 
The legendary part of it, however, is just as 
fresh and replete with details, as the day the 
trip began, and can supplement any missing 
links which the historians may require. In ad- 
dition to giving the historical narrative, the leg- 
298 



SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


299 


end furnishes us with an accurate pen picture 
of the famous Quaker, his manners and general 
characteristics. For this we could search in vain 
in written history, as the truckling historians of 
the time preferred to paint him perennially as 

he appeared at the age of twenty-two in *s 

portrait, which is familiar to all. 

At that time he was Penn the courtier, the 
gilded youth ; he had not had his religious 
awakening, he had not languished for months 
in an Irish jail, from which even his influential 
father had difficulty in rescuing him. Penn, in 
the legend of the canoe trip to Cherry Tree, ap- 
pears as a very human and likable personage; 
as such we prefer to remember him, we who 
are human, and like heroes pretty much like our- 
selves. Despite the age of the tradition, it comes 
to us in “apostolic succession, ’ ’ through earlier 
Indians to Sammy Jimmerson, the redoubtable 
Seneca King, who when revisiting his boyhood 
scenes in Central Pennsylvania over half a 
century ago, told the story to one of the old pio- 
neers, whom he had known in his youth. It was 
from this splendid old gentleman of Scotch-Irish 
descent who recently passed away on the eve of 


300 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


his ninetieth birthday, that the present chron- 
icler heard the story. 

It seems that from the time Penn first set foot 
on soil of the domain which was to bear his name, 
he evinced a desire to explore the interior. In 
this he was often dissuaded, as the inconve- 
niences and uncertainties of travel in the wilder- 
ness were much exaggerated to him by his luxury 
loving advisers. But in 1696, during his second 
visit to the province, affairs had taken a different 
turn. The population had increased with mar- 
velous rapidity, it was becoming difficult to con- 
fine them in the then acknowledged boundaries. 
Technically speaking, Penn was owner of all the 
territory now included in Pennsylvania, and 
more besides, but that had only the authority of 
royal grant. The Indians must yet be reckoned 
with. They had always acted in a friendly man- 
ner, and shown even anxiety to please the Quaker 
newcomers. A large white population had sud- 
denly encamped in their midst, but they uttered 
no word of protest. The elm tree at Shacka- 
maxon had played its part, soon it was to have 
a western prototype, a cherry tree. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


301 


It seems a pity that these two trees do not 
appear on the arms of the present common- 
wealth. They were the timber from which budd- 
ed most of its greatness. They would be more 
appropriate than two horses rampant. In order 
to allow his settlers room to spread out, Penn 
made a number of local purchases. These were 
filled before the Indian quit-claims were pre- 
pared, he must acquire land on a larger scale. 
The valley of the Susquehanna, praised to the 
skies by explorers and hunters, was the logical 
line of expansion. By a council with the chiefs, 
he was able to arrange for the purchase of a 
“right-of-way” for his colonists “through the 
Susquehanah to unexplored countries.” At 
first glance this carried little except the privi- 
lege to pass up-stream unmolested in canoes. 
But it was to be broadened by certain rights 
along the banks, but these extra privileges were 
to continue “only so far as a canoe could navi- 
gate.” 

A trip was arranged to the point where the 
canoe could go no further. Indian chiefs and 
trusted surveyors, with French guides were to 
compose the party. The journey had an irresist- 


302 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


ible fascination to Penn ; he decided to go along, 
partly incognito. That is while acknowledged as 
the great Penn, he would be treated merely as a 
private citizen en route. He would see the 
country and the aborigines at close range, with- 
out the pomp and pretense of an official progress. 
Even the words of sycophantic interpreters 
could not be strictly relied upon as translating 
the true attitude of the redmen towards the pro- 
prietary government. 

Penn, although about forty years of age, in- 
clined towards corpulency and good living, was 
as enthusiastic as a boy over the trip. Although 
he had come to Pennsylvania accompanied by 
his special steward to provide him with properly 
cooked renderitions of his favorite dishes, his 
several valets, he was willing to leave this all at 
Sedgley and face the hardships of the wilder- 
ness. That he would start off on such a lengthy 
and hazardous outing was viewed with concern 
by some of his councilors. There was no stop- 
ping him, however, but lest the matter of his 
going arouse some impious plot to harm him on 
his way, or his government while absent, he 
agreed that the trip be kept a secret. He would 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


303 


be merely resting at his country seat, that would 
explain his absence from Philadelphia. But 
some of the same timorous councilors sent emis- 
saries ahead to inform certain influential chiefs 
that Penn himself was to be a member of the 
purchasing and surveying party, and to see 
that he got all delicacies in the way of game, 
fruits and vegetables that the season might pro- 
vide. But the local historians were left in the 
cold; when some Indians wandered into Mana- 
yunk and said that they had met Penn at the 
mouth of Conewago, the historians clamored, but 
all they got was the official statement that a mis- 
take must have been made, Penn was resting at 
Sedgley. 

Thus in the days before shrewd reporters and 
telephones, was history woven, just to suit those 
who were the most influential actors in it. And 
it may be made to suit certain parties to-day ; it 
is said a true history of the Spanish- American 
War would make startling and humiliating read- 
ing. How much more so a history of a wild re- 
gion, peopled with ignorant settlers, savage men, 
and beasts. 


304 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


Penn, in order not to be recognized, was driven 
in a coach as far as the mouth of Conewago, 
where the embarkation was made. As the In- 
dians had never been hostile, a large armed force 
was unnecessary. Penn, his secretary, two Indian 
interpreters, two surveyors, two map-drawers, 
two cooks, a valet, and four French guides made 
up the party. The identity of the guides is for- 
tunately preserved for us. They were Provencal 
Reattu, Paul Torney, Denis Coursant and Ernest 
Larrey. The last named did not return from 
Central Pennsylvania, and Larry’s Creek, in 
Lycoming Country, is named for him, or his son. 
It is said that Penn was in fine spirits on the en- 
tire trip, and his geniality increased as he pene- 
trated further and further into the forest. He 
accepted bad weather cheerfully, being drenched 
to the skin in several sudden showers which came 
up on the river. His cooks knew how to please 
him, and that they intimated to the Indians and 
guides was the cause of the ‘ ‘ great white 
father’s” excellent demeanor. But he was also 
democratic, which is a deeper trait than mere 
courtesy ; the Penn who had wandered and 
preached in Ireland, Holland and Germany, who 


























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SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


305 


had slept and fraternized with peasants, came 
to the surface again. There was not a single 
member of the party but who genuinely liked 
him, and who would have laid down their lives 
for him, long before the site of Harris’ Ferry 
was reached. 

The attitude of Penn towards the Indians 
was carefully studied by the French guides, who 
before the start were not slow to admit that they 
doubted the sincerity of his protestations. One 
by one they were convinced; above motives of 
self-interest Penn loved the Indians; he was a 
lover of all peoples, a humanitarian. Aristocrat 
though he had been born, this early self seemed 
to have died, and a broad, gentle, tolerant spirit 
taken possession of his frame. 

Personally he looked different to his observing 
companions than the flattering portrait-artists 
portrayed him. To the guides in the woods he 
appeared a man of goodly height, true enough. 
But he was very stout, so much so that he walked 
with difficulty. As the trip progressed his mus- 
cles hardened, and his weight reduced, still he 
was what might be called a fat man. His hair, 
which was growing thin at the temples, was of a 


306 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


medium shade of brown, and very thick at the 
back part of the head. His big nose was re- . 
trousse, and had full nostrils, much as he ap- 
peared in the early engraving by Chopman. 
He had large, deepset dark blue eyes, clear 
and mild of expression, the eyes of a genius 
and a thinker. A recent writer has pointed 
out that most of the really great men have had 
blue eyes and medium brown hair ; it is the type 
denoting intense mental acumen. 

Napoleon, Wagner, Cromwell, Luther, Shakes- 
peare, Victor Hugo, Grant, Poe, Roosevelt, John 
Singer Sargent and Robert Louis Stevenson are 
a few of the great men whose eyes were blue, 
whose hair was brown. His voice was particular- 
ly pleasing, anyone to whom he addressed a word 
was captivated instantly. This engaging mode of 
speech took the place of the smile. Penn smiled 
very seldom, when he did it was with the lips, 
never with the eyes. The descriptions of great men 
may sound like those of individuals of ordinary 
calibre, but there is a psychic difference, which 
is felt by those who have come in contact with 
the leaders of human endeavor. That Penn 
was an inspired man, a master mind, was ac- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


307 


knowledged by all who met him, and especially 
by the Indians, who claimed he was the only 
white man they ever truly liked or could trust. 
With such a personality, with such sincere and 
lofty motives, his founding of a great colony, 
without any bloodshed during his lifetime, seems 
perfectly comprehensible. 

As the trip progressed Penn was delighted 
at what he saw. The grand forests, the high 
mountains, the multiplicity of beautiful streams 
running into them, the well-tilled Indian farms, 
the abundance of game animals and birds, the 
lovely climate, all made him feel he was passing 
through an earthly paradise — all his own. In- 
dian canoes and pirogues manned by chiefs or 
wise men often paddled out to meet the party, 
urging them to stop and partake of sumptuous 
feasts. At first Penn liked the idea, but after 
awhile he suspected that advance news of his 
coming had caused such rash hospitality, and he 
tried to avoid unnecessary stops, saying he 
wanted to make time. But he was invariably po- 
lite and gentle, especially to the squaws, who al- 
most acclaimed him a divinity. They all liked 


308 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


his blue eyes, so sad and serious, just as the men 
were won by his voice. 

Penn’s trip, incognito, or almost so, was a huge 
success. Good time was made, as he would not 
delay for the weather, and when tired he was 
slow to admit it. On the way several French 
trading posts were passed. One, magnificently 
fortified with high earth works, was near the site 
of the present town of Muncy. These would 
have to move out when the Penn title was con- 
firmed, but the great Quaker made no threats, 
he even went out of his way to pleasantly greet 
the Frenchmen. 

A notable stop was made at the most extensive 
of these posts, which stood where later a fort was 
erected by the British during the French and 
Indian War, nameless it was then, but during 
the Revolutionary days when rebuilt by the pa- 
triots, was known as Fort Horn. Penn took a 
great liking to a very young Frenchman who 
was in charge. His name was Beauchamp or 
Bushong. He was amazed to learn from him of 
the vast amount of business done annually at 
the fort ; the number of furs, precious stones and 
bars of silver collected. He confided to his 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


309 


secretary that in due season this would all be 
superseded by an English company. For some 
reason, he made no effort to effect this change up- 
on his return to Philadelphia, and the French 
post remained undisturbed until through a quar- 
rel with the Indians, it was attacked and burned. 
In the melee, Beauchamp lost his life. 

A great flight of paroquets occurred while 
Penn was sojourning at this post. He was amazed 
to see the mass of green and yellow colored 
chattering birds. He said that in his boyhood 
his mother had had a favorite parrot brought 
from the Indies; he had always wanted to see 
them in a wild state. He refused to allow 
any to be shot, saying that the wild birds and 
animals, unless of value commercially should be 
allowed to live as they added much interest to 
the scenery. 

That night a pack of wolves assembled on the 
nearby Round Top and serenaded the dis- 
tinguished visitor. “They are one of our chief 
sources of wealth” said Beauchamp. 

1 1 In some way they should be protected except 
when they bear the winter coats” replied Penn. 
He added that he had once heard wolves barking 


310 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


in Savoy, and it had made a lasting impression. 
He took great delight in inspecting the hides of 
the beavers, fishers, wolverenes, catamounts, wild 
cats, silver foxes, and martens, which formed the 
chief articles of purchase in the line of furs. 
The hides of panthers, brown and black bears, 
also elks and buffaloes, and even deer were 
bought, but they were too plentiful to have more 
than a nominal value. The existence of silver 
ore made Penn realize that his province con- 
tained vast mineral wealth. Though the silver 
supply petered out, other minerals created the 
wealth of the state. 

After leaving the trading post, the Penn party 
encountered few further signs of civilization. 
On the Sinnemahoning Creek, beyond its con- 
fluence with the Susquehanna, was another 
French post but as Penn followed the main 
river, he did not meet with it. The scenery from 
the “meeting of the waters” became romantic 
in the extreme. Penn went into ecstacies, and 
proved himself a veritable nature lover. The 
river became very narrow, and the giant trees 
almost met overhead. He was particularly 
pleased by the seven round tops which reared 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


31! 


their swarthy heads near the mouth of Mos- 
hannon. 

Every mile or so bands of Indians waved 
friendly signals from the shore, or paddled out 
to shake the hand of the “great white father.’ ’ 
Many of them brought gifts, such as gaily col- 
ored beads, bright feathers, skins, or bits of gold 
or silver ore. Under such pleasant circumstances 
the voyage progressed rapidly. 

The stream became so narrow that in places 
not more than two canoes could go abreast. It 
grew so winding that it required considerable 
skill to “cut the corners.” But the water course 
ran deep, so the frail boats had no trouble to keep 
afloat. It was at the last moments of the golden 
hour, and the sun had already begun to sink be- 
hind the western mountains when the flotilla bid 
fair to reach a point where further progress was 
impossible. With huge gnarled roots, which 
seemed to arch the stream as an impassable bar- 
rier, grew a gigantic cherry tree. In diameter it 
must have been as much as twelve feet, its 
straight brown trunk rose a hundred feet in the 
air without a limb. There it joined the moss- 
green verdant canopy of pines and hemlocks. 


312 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


Nearby grew a beech of almost similar propor- 
tions, the cherry and it were the two biggest 
trees in sight, and on its smooth silvery bark was 
boldly cut the initials and date “E. B. 1615.” 
Penn was so engrossed by this legible signature 
in the wilderness, that he scarcely noticed that 
a troop of Indians had come out to meet him, or 
that the canoes could navigate no further with- 
out a “ carry.’ ’ Even on the other side of the 
bridgelike roots progress would be unsatisfactory 
as the bed of the stream was full of jagged 
rocks, and there were wildfalls innumerable. 
“We can go no further” shouted Ernest Larrey, 
the premier guide, and Penn realized his jour- 
ney’s end had come. 

A large number of Indians, men and women, 
appeared out of the forest, and waved a glad 
welcome to the voyagers. Among them were 
fully a dozen chiefs, magnificently attired with 
beaded suits and feathered head-dresses. Those 
who did not take leading parts in the welcome, 
the squaws and young bucks, some of whom had 
black wolves used for hunting, in leash, leaned 
in picturesque attitudes against the tall trees. 
Penn’s calm eyes scanned the assemblage. He 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


313 


was favorably impressed by the appearance and 
bearing of the Indians, by the beauty of their 
women. 

There was one young squaw, upon whom he 
cast a second and third glance. She was easily 
the flower of the flock. She was enveloped in a 
dark green blanket, with yellow fringes, which 
she kept drawing tightly about her, showing off 
to advantage the wonderful lines of her supple 
back, her hips, her legs. Her hair was dark, and 
her eyes, which were what are called ‘ ‘ flat eyes, ’ ’ 
were very black ; she had a short yet aquiline nose, 
a tawny complexion. Her lips were colored by 
Vermillion, according to the custom of the time. 
In her hair was stuck a single red feather, a 
dyed eagle’s plume no doubt. She kept eyeing 
Penn and his party with cold curiosity, punctu- 
ating each glance by tightening her grip on her 
blanket. The French guides bowed to her ob- 
sequiously, which led Penn to believe her to be 
an Indian girl of quality. When out of hearing 
he asked Larrey who she might be. “Why that’s 
Rose-Marie” he replied. “She is the adopted 
daughter of old Chief Kinhochkus, the daughter 
of his second wife by an earlier marriage. She 


314 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


was an Algonquin from north of Lake Ontario. 
Her first husband was a great warrior. Rose- 
Marie was educated by the Jesuits, and is so 
level-headed and wise that her step-father con- 
fers with her about matters of state. She says 
if she ever marries, her husband will be a white 
man, so she’s a prize for some one.” 

Just then the old chief himself stepped for- 
ward to help the hefty Penn out of his canoe. 
After the first cordial greetings, the great 
Quaker inquired what the letters “E. B.” and 
the date “1615” carved on the giant beech tree 
signified. 

“They were cut there many years ago by one 
Etienne Brule, the first white man ever seen by 
the Indians in this section of the country. With 
his long red beard and pale eyes he scared all our 
people terribly. He was not prepossessing like 
yourself. ’ ’ 

At this essay at flattery Penn was compelled 
to smile. “You are very kind to compare me 
favorably with such a great pioneer.” During 
the impromptu reception held on the bank, 
Penn’s eyes reverted again to the fair Indian 
girl, who continued her classic poses, beneath the 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


315 


shade of the giant beech. He did not look at her 
with eyes of conquest, for he had no such 
thoughts; it was with the eyes of a man of the 
world, who understands and appreciates beauti- 
ful women. He regretted that the fair sex was 
held in such low esteem among the Indians, as 
surely this girl with her Jesuit education, would 
have made a better interpreter than Ernest Lar- 
rey. 

Penn knew a little of the language of the Len- 
ni-Lenape, yet preferred a trained interpreter to 
carry on the conversation, lest some slip of the 
tongue spoil everything. He was anxious to 
finish his important land purchase without even 
the shadow of friction. Above all he desired a 
title that would survive the years. With all his 
witnesses present, the business matter was 
brought up — and by the chiefs themselves — 
within ten minutes after he was assisted out of 
his canoe. Penn was glad of this, as it was a 
big transaction, full of intricacies and diplomatic 
questions, and the sooner accomplished the bet- 
ter. The Indians, he heard, were great at chang- 
ing their minds. Like all of his dealings with the 
Indians, he avoided red-tape, and preambles, and 


316 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


went right to the gist of the matter. By the time 
the hospitable chiefs announced that supper was 
ready, Penn was master of the Susquehanna as 
far as the Cherry Tree. 

During the repast, which consisted of various 
kinds of game and vegetables, the Indian women 
remained standing. Rose-Marie, stoical like her 
race, had never left the tree against which she 
lolled, although when the party was seated, she 
was directly opposite, and not ten feet from 
Penn. Like all intellectual men, he had a strong- 
ly developed appreciation of women, and looked 
forward to the finish of the long meal, when 
freed from responsibility, he might act as the 
gallant with her for a few minutes. Despite her 
serious face, she smiled sometimes when Indian 
children ran up to her and gave her cakes. Penn 
became impressed with the idea she wished to 
talk with him, for some reason. Perhaps he 
calculated, she wanted to know about the con- 
dition of English women, or if he was pleased 
with his new country and the beauties of the 
region. 

The meal was well served, and Penn partook 
freely. He said jokingly that his English stew- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


317 


ard could learn considerable from these native 
cooks. One of the chiefs could speak some 
French, and with him the great Quaker carried 
on a friendly conversation. During the meal 
darkness fell rapidly, and big fires of rich pine 
were lighted in the open spaces of the forest, giv- 
ing a rare red coloring to the scene. Penn re- 
marked that it reminded him of some of the pic- 
tures by his favorite artist, Godfried Schalken, 
the master of candle and lamp-light effects. 

After the meal, Penn strolled over to where 
the patient Rose-Marie was standing, and bowed 
to her in his most courtly manner. She spoke to 
him in excellent French, to which Penn replied 
in a delighted manner. 1 1 1 have been wanting to 
see you for a long time” she said. “Your com- 
ing to the redman’s country, your peaceable 
association with us, your kindness and justice 
have appealed to me greatly.” 

The Quaker was noticeably pleased at these 
words of appreciation. 

“I was a little disappointed,” she went on, 
looking him straight in the eyes, “at your decis- 
ion to purchase more land, to bring settlers as 
far west as the Cherry Tree. I had hoped that 


318 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


by leaving our people the land that remained to 
us that both races could spread out, there would 
be room for all. Now the white men are to en- 
croach on our choicest hunting grounds; a few 
more purchases like these, and your boundaries 
will join those of the French; it means annihi- 
lation for the redmen, — squeezed in between.’ ’ 

1 1 But all the sales were cheerfully made by the 
Indians, among them by your good and wise 
father, ’ ’ broke in Penn, still smiling. 

“That is all very true” replied the girl, firm- 
ly, 1 1 but if we had refused to sell, we would have 
been forced to go to war, and where would we 
be, poor unarmed savages, against the guns of 
the white men ! ’ ’ 

“We have always had the most brotherly 
feelings for your race” said Penn. 

“I know” said Rose-Marie, “but a change 
could come. Now will you do this for me, I am 
sure you are fair minded, a great soul?” 

“I will do anything” replied Penn, “you need 
have no doubts of my sincerity.” 

“Then will you agree to limit your territorial 
additions to where you stand to-night, to go no 
further west ; I know it is all yours by the grant 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


319 


of a King across the big water, but it is not 
actual possession. Will you agree 

Penn smiled, answering promptly : ‘ ‘ I will be 
glad to make such a promise. This trip was 
made by me to personally view the furthest west 
of my possessions. I will probably never get 
here again. While I was granted the territory 
west to the great rivers, I do not want it for set- 
tlement, it can remain as a happy hunting 
ground for your race. It will be neutral ground 
between my lands and those of the French. 
Apart from motives of fairness, it will be to our 
advantage, as it will ensure the permanent sup- 
port and alliance of all the Indians dwelling 
there.” He held out his hand to seal the bar- 
gain, and Rose-Marie gave it a hearty shake. 

As the conversation was drawing to a close 
several of the chiefs drew near. Penn turned 
to them smilingly, and said : “ I have had a most 
delightful talk with this charming young prin- 
cess; she has made me many valuable sugges- 
tions. In your presence friends, I will say that 
all I discussed with her will be carried out.” 

The girl bowed graciously, and withdrew into 
the forest. Penn spent the balance of the even- 


320 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


ing with the chiefs and his staff, engaged in 
friendly conversations. The next morning he 
started for the east, pleased with every detail of 
his trip. Rose-Marie was on hand to wave him 
good-bye. On the way he told his secretary that 
the Cherry Tree was to be the western boundary 
of actual settlement; he requsted him to make 
full record of this decision. For all the French 
guides and Indian interpreters understood, there 
was no question about the matter. It was a wise 
move, and would have made the redmen perma- 
nent allies. 

The return trip was uneventful, except for 
Indian entertainments, and before long Penn 
was safely back at Sedgley. Later he went to 
England, and died thereabout twenty years later. 
After his death settlers began moving west of the 
Cherry Tree, though the Indians made im- 
mediate protest. Penn had said their settlements 
would end there. Their objections were un- 
heeded, and gradually the good feeling between 
the two races subsided and bloody warfare en- 
sued. Down to the time of Teedyuscung, the 
Indians complained of broken promises, of 
shattered faith, but deaf was the ear of authority 
to Penn’s promise to Rose-Marie. 


XVIII. 


GOLDEN HOUR IN THE CAMP. 
(Story of Young Woman’s Creek.) 




T 


© 


HE Golden Hour had settled in 
the Camp. The cloudless sky 
was of that delicate tint which 
the French call “bleu-ciel,” 
toward the horizon it was 
shading into pale gold. Across 
the hollow, every leaf of the 
tall hemlocks and beeches was 
clear cut as a diamond in the 
soft light. The smooth trunks of the trees had 
assumed tones of lavender. Here and there 
crickets chirping in the grass punctuated the 
evening stillness; high in the evergreen boughs 
somnolent turtle doves were sweetly cooing. 
Supper over, we had all taken seats outside the 
shanties to absorb the dreamy beauty of the 
scene. Rough woodsmen though they might be, 
there was not one but felt the charm of atmos- 

321 



322 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


pheric content. Old Nicholas, the Indian cook, 
was saying that he liked the Golden Hour the 
best of any part of the day, that he had never 
seen an evening more beautiful than this. “I 
have seen one more beautiful” said old man 
Connelly, the forrester, “it was in the Mohawk 
Valley, I was traveling through there in the 
train. ’ ’ 

“That was because you were going to visit 
your best girl” said Nicholas, “I know you 
well. ’ ’ Gradually long dark shadows, like 
streamers, fell from the tallest trees, and lay 
across the clearing, giving a black color to the 
creek, as it wound its way around rocks and slabs. 
Speckled kildeers, perched on partly submerged 
rotting logs, were drinking daintily at the 
water’s edge. Once or twice came the tinkle 
of a distant cow bell or a crisp breeze from the 
heart of the hemlocks. A small flock of wild pig- 
eons, flying high, swept across the blue canopy. 
4 4 They used to nest here by the millions, ’ ’ said old 
Nicholas. “When they cut the last hemlock, 
you’ll see the last of the pigeons, nature sent 
them to destroy the hemlock beetles.” Some 
of the men smoked, and dropping off the benches- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


323 


lolled in the grass. One big lad was softly hum- 
ming “Nellie Gray.” Memories, sweet bright 
memories, were in every breast, fairer memories 
than those which haunt us by the firelight. And 
the tint of lavender gradually overspread the 
shades of sky blue and gold. The sound of 
voices came upon our ears. 

Two of the boys were talking loudly as they 
approached, the rich, jerky intonation of the 
lumber woods, now heard no more. Soon we saw 
them, they carried on their shoulders a huge 
chunk of beech-wood, probably four feet long. 
One end was jagged, showing it had been broken, 
the other had been sawed through by a crosscut. 
“Bringing in a choice piece of firewood, bud- 
dies” called out old Nicholas, jocularly, 
“thought we needed it, mor’n you did your sup- 
per.” 

“Wait till you see what we’ve got” answered 
the lads in chorus. When they got to where we 
were seated, they lifted the chunk from their 
shoulders, and carefully laid it on the grass. 
Then they took off their caps, mopping their 
perspiring brows with red handkerchiefs. They 
did not have to show us the reason for fetching 


324 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


the beech-log. On the smooth bark, deftly cut, 
was a profile fourteen inches long, doubtless an 
Indian face. Evidently it had been carved there 
many years, as the lines were softened, and in 
some corners almost indiscernable, by the de- 
velopment of the bark. It had the soft sketchy, 
indeterminate atmosphere of an etching. Below 
were some hieroglyphics, which might once have 
been a name. At the first glimpse, Nicholas had 
gotten up from his bench, and dropped down on 
his knees beside the carving. “Boys, oh, boys, 
where did you get that ? ’ ’ he demanded. 

“ It ’s poor Tschinque ’s face to be sure. ” “It 
wasn’t on our job” replied one of the boys. “We 
were headed back here for supper, taking a 
short cut through Deloy’s slashing. About a 
hundred yards from the Otter Spring we saw 
this slab lying among the tops and logs. Some 
big hemlock in falling, probably this morning, 
had broken off the top of the beech, and the 
crew never noticed the curiosity. There was a 
crosscut handy, so we sawed off the upper part 
where the branches began, and carried the chunk 
along with us. ’ ’ 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


325 


“That's too bad" said Nicholas, “I had for- 
gotten all about that tree, we called it when I 
was a boy ‘ Tschinque ’s beech . 9 If I had thought 
I ’d have told Deloy to spare it. He ’d have done 
it for me. Too bad, too bad." We all asked the 
old Indian to tell us the story; he smiled sadly, 
saying that he would, if we would promise not 
to forget it. 

“As long as that tree stood poor Tschinque 
had a good chance of being remembered, but 
now, unless we who are here tonight keep the 
story alive, his sad romance will end in ob- 
livion." We promised never to forget, and be- 
sides we liked to please old Nicholas. The old 
man resumed his seat on the bench, and leaning 
his back against the rough logs of the cabin, be- 
gan his story. 

1 ‘ Tschinque lived considerably over a hundred 
years ago, as near as I can judge. He was before 
my father’s or my grandfather’s time, it was an 
old story to them. In his early youth he was the 
greatest hunter in this country. Before he was 
twenty he had killed more panthers and brown 
bears, buffaloes and elks, wolves and catamounts, 
than anybody in the tribe. The chief’s son was 


326 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


jealous of his prowess and planned his murder. 
By keeping in the wilderness, he escaped with his 
life. A slow fever carried off his royal rival, 
some said from a broken heart, so he moved 
about with freedom after that. He became by 
common consent the official hunter of the tribe. 
Whenever fierce animals harassed the camps, he 
was allowed to go out to slay them in single com- 
bat. And he never came back defeated. Many 
Indians said they would rather have his good 
looks and courage than royal blood. He was 
without a parallel in hurling the spear, or draw- 
ing the bow. Women of all degrees loved him, 
and he managed to carry on many affairs at the 
same time. He was unscrupulous, and boastful 
of his conquests, like are all ill-bred men, white 
as well as red. 

But at length he fell in love with one girl, 
Gilkissin by name, of about his own caste, whom 
he loved more than all the rest. While she en- 
couraged him, there was no woman living who 
could do otherwise, she did not yield herself to 
him, she kept him at a respectful distance. She 
was beautiful, intelligent, was pure and clean. 
Though she adored the great hunter, she was not 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


327 


anxious to marry him immediately; she feared 
that once he had conquered her, he would go in 
search of other prey. She must know him bet- 
ter. If there was a good side to his nature, he 
showed it to Gilkissin. But she was not satisfied 
in her soul, though she dearly loved him for his 
physical beauty. When she did consent to a 
marriage, she set a date three months ahead, a 
long time according to the customs of those prim- 
itive Indians. 

“During this final period of probation, 
Tschinque desired to augment to his reputation 
as a hunter. He choked a monster seal to death 
in the river near Peter’s Steps. This 
was an achievement even in those days, 
as they were never plentiful. He killed 
a mammoth moose, the last one seen in 
this region. He allowed a pack of fierce black 
wolves to chase him to the edge of the camp, and 
killed them all by deft spear thrusts in the pres- 
ence of the frightened population, and before 
they had time to touch a single soul. He killed 
a family of six ferocious fishers in seven min- 
utes. 


328 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


He killed a herd of a hundred buffaloes in 
a single day. Even for him that was an exhaust- 
ing task. 

At night he returned to his hunting camp, 
flushed with triumph at his great achievement. 
He ordered his followers to depart immediately 
for the scene of the butchery, and bring in the 
hundred tongues, lest birds of prey or wolves 
spoil any of them before morning. A great bon- 
fire had been lighted to commemorate the event 
far and wide. The flames rose at least a hundred 
feet in the air. Utterly worn out, though he 
would not admit it, the hunter sat on a log, at 
the edge of the fire, leaning on his spear. His 
followers had departed by his orders, there was 
no one by him. He gradually fell asleep, still 
leaning on his stout spear. The flames running 
in the grass and chips had crept close to where 
he rested. They licked about the handle of the 
spear, they coiled up it like tiny serpents. The 
stout hickory began to burn, it charred clear 
through, it broke asunder. Sleeping soundly, 
Tschinque no longer upheld by his support, 
tumbled into the hot fire among the grass and 
chips. Lying there on his right side, the flames 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


329 


wrought sad havoc with his arm, the side of his 
face, burning out one of his eyes. He would 
probably have been burned to a cinder had not a 
rain arose, which even quenched the triumphal 
bonfire. When his followers returned at dawn, 
they feared to lift him from the charred earth, 
lest his flesh come away with the soil. When he 
awakened, of his own accord, he quickly real- 
ized his predicament. Proud to the heart’s core 
of his personal appearance, he waited for three 
days until the earth dried, then he lifted him- 
self up with safety. But even then, he arose a 
caricature, a ludicrous travesty on his former 
beautiful self. His right eye was gone, his face 
burnt in patches clear in to the skull. Nothing 
remained of his right arm except the bones, 
which he broke off in horror and disgust. Though 
his physical sufferings must have been hideous, 
he suffered more from mortification than from 
his hurts. No longer was he the handsomest 
youth of his generation, no more the greatest 
of nimrods. Half blind, and one armed, he could 
never hurl the javelin or draw the bow. Per- 
haps he might learn to use the spear left-handed, 
but with poor eyesight the game would have the 


330 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


advantage. He stood, with tears rolling down 
his cheeks, gazing at the hundred buffalo 
tongues, which his faithful henchmen piled up 
before him to assuage his grief. 

“The chief to whom he sent the hundred 
tongues, despatched an embassy of condolence. 
His sweetheart swooned when she heard the 
news, then hurried to his side. When her eyes 
rested on the horrible human mockery, she burst 
into tears. Alas, they were not tears of sym- 
pathy, but came from a realization that she loved 
Tschinque the beauty, the nimrod, nothing else. 
He had no character to adore, no gifts which 
might atone for his vanished charms. Some- 
thing gave way within her, she felt no more for 
her stricken lover than one would for a broken 
piece of china-ware. It pained her to feel, that 
with all her high ideals, she had loved mere clay ; 
her love penetrated no deeper than others of her 
sex. Her worship had been founded on physical 
beauty alone; as it is in most cases. Instead of 
throwing her arms around her stricken favor- 
ite, she shuddered with repulsion, and like a 
startled doe, ran off into the forest. But a short 
time before she had gloated because she had 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


331 


gotten this handsome man away from a host of 
fair aspirants. 

“ ‘Some other woman will love him’ she re- 
peated to herself again and again, as she ran 
and ran — through the silent forest depths. But 
no other woman now loved him. The many who 
had striven for his hand, or yielded to his caress- 
es, kept aloof; they loved the handsome beau 
ideal, the gallant nimrod, they wanted none of a 
dull, weird monstrosity. 

“Tschinque realized his altered position, he 
was like a bull dehorned and gelded turned back 
into the pasture that once he ruled. Like a 
wounded or a sickly animal is deserted by its 
kind, the Indians cruelly shunned the mutilated 
hunter. Food was thrown to him gingerly, as to 
a dog; all who secretly envied him before, em- 
phasized their revenge. He found that with one 
arm he could climb trees, and carrying his sharp 
scalping knife in his teeth he scaled the hem- 
locks and beeches in search of pigeons’ nests. He 
lived off squabs and eggs, he who formerly would 
eat nothing less than a buffalo’s or antelope’s 
heart. The squirrels, black, grey and red, seemed 
to divine he was different from other men, they 


332 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


mocked and chaffed him, as did the scornful red- 
headed paroquets. 

‘ ‘ One afternoon he climbed a huge beech, that 
contained a veritable harvest of pigeons’ eggs. 
He feasted for several hours, sometimes eating 
shells and all, in his greedy triumph. Loneli- 
ness and chagrin had touched his head, though 
many Indians declared he had always been a 
trifle queer. When he had eaten the last egg, 
and had yawned in satisfaction, he leaned 
against the fork of the tree, and began to medi- 
tate. Unfortunately thoughts of his former high 
estate descended upon him, of the women who 
once ran after him, of his present lowly condi- 
tion. His mind became strangely normal, all the 
awful truth of his tragic downfall rose clearly 
to his vision. He was hated and despised, why 
should he continue such a loathsome existence 4 / 
There was no earthly reason. Accustomed as he 
had been to the worship of women, public appro- 
bation, popularity, neglect and opprobrium cut 
him like knife thrusts. As far as women went, 
he would never feel their interest again. If his 
powers as a hunter had been snatched from him 
and he could have retained his looks, he felt 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


333 


sure everything would have been the same. But 
deprived of glamor and looks, he was useless in 
his old world. Women had loved him for his 
physical beauty, he had no other charm. He 
realized how impossible it had been for the 
chief’s son, who died of a broken heart, to out- 
shine him with all his power of royal birth. 
This youth had not been handsome, and he lost 
out in every love tilt. Nature demands the mat- 
ing of the physically desirable, and will break 
down the thickest walls of caste to attain her 
purposes. It is only when a man of the com- 
moner sort who is handicapped by homeliness 
finds it impossible to grasp a prize above him. 

“As the afternoon advanced into the Golden 
Hour, the wretched Indian resolved to die. Yet 
he hated to skulk out of the world, unremem- 
bered, unrecognized. If he could have some en- 
during memorial, he would go gladly. He ran 
his left hand over the smooth bark of beech, and 
over the sharp blade of his hunting knife, which 
he gripped in his teeth. He looked about him; 
where he sat was too full of branches, too deeply 
hidden in foliage to suit. Even in winter leaves 
cling tenaciously to the beech. Below the fork 


334 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


the trunk of the tree ran straight and smooth to 
the earth for eighty feet. He cut his buckskin 
jacket into ribbons, and fashioned a swing by 
which he could let himself down half a dozen 
feet, to where he wished to work. 

“When he had adjusted his device, tieing 
the knots with his teeth, he lowered him- 
self, and began his task. He had never sus- 
pected he possessed artistic abilities, perhaps 
they had developed suddenly in the intensity of his 
despair. With his keen blade he carved on the 
soft bark a profile, resembling the good side of 
his face. He knew it well, had admired its re- 
flection in a hundred pools. He laid especial 
stress on the noble arch of his high nose, the deep 
eyesocket, the leanness of the cheek. For an un- 
trained hand, it was surely a masterpiece. When 
finished he gazed at it in open-mouthed admira- 
tion. No wonder that all women loved him. But 
he was not done. Beneath the portrait he cut his 
name, and the words ‘beloved by all women, 
master slayer of fierce beasts/ That handsome 
face, with the record of his achievements, would 
attract attention to his personality for years to 
come. The beech tree, loved by the Storm God, 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


335 


would escape the lightning; no human hands 
would care to fell it with its curious inscription. 
It was too high in the air to be mutilated by 
vandals. When he had gazed on the likeness and 
inscription to his satisfaction, he cut the ropes 
which held him, and dropped. He turned sev- 
eral somersaults in the air, and struck earth head 
first ; death was instantaneous. 

‘ ‘ That night the skulking black wolves that he 
had oft times harassed made merry with his 
mangled corpse. They tore it to pieces, yelping 
and romping with fiendish joy. They seemed to 
divine the identity of their feast. It is said 
that to animals each human being has a dis- 
tinctive scent. By morning there was not a bone 
nor scrap of hair to serve as a physical memento 
of Tschinque, once greatest of hunters. 

“The lynx-eyed Indians passing through the 
forest were not long in discovering the face and 
inscription on the beech, even though it was so 
high above the ground. They made certain 
signs to ward off devils as they passed. ‘ Cursed 
is he who seeks to make his own immortality. ’ 
Some of the more serious-minded detested the 
phrase ‘beloved by all women/ but none cared 


336 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


to climb the tree to erase the words. ‘Time will 
wipe it out soon enough’ said the wise-men. A 
century or more came and went, the legend be- 
low the profile became indecipherable, nature 
was its own eraser. But the stern face remained, 
time softening a little the bitterness of its lines. 
Oh, had I realized the nearness of Deloy’s oper- 
ations I would have asked him to have care taken 
not to injure the beech. But I guess nature 
wanted the tree, and all record of Tschinque to 
go; my tongue was tied.” We looked up, the 
strange story was finished. A crimson sunset 
overspread the horizon, gone like Tschinque was 
the Golden Hour. 















































































































































Photo by W. T. Clarke, Conrad, Pa. 



XIX. 


THE WEATHERVANES. 

(Story of the Old River Bridge.) 

HEN he was younger, it was 
much harder for Matthew An- 
not, the bridge-tender, to pass 
the time, than latterly. Had 
it not been that he was shot 
in the leg in the Civil War, 
while serving in Hawkins’ 
Zouaves, he would have chosen 
a more active occupation. Kind 
friends had the position at the bridge offered to 
him, he was always glad he accepted. Even the 
slight exertion of getting up from his arm-chair 
to count out change and hand over tickets hurt 
his leg, especially in bad weather. At first he 
thought he might maintain a room at the lock- 
keeper ’s cottage, several hundred yards away, 
but his infirmities made it impossible. He fitted 
up a couch in the toll-house, hung his favorite 

337 



338 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


pictures above it, including the little daguereo- 
type which was taken when as a boy in France, 
he first became a sailor. How he drifted from 
the quarter-deck of a French coasting-vessel to 
the wilds of Central Pennsylvania, even serving 
in the Union army during the war, was one of 
the romances of destiny. Now his friends in this 
adopted land had provided for his welfare by 
making him bridge-tender. In addition he drew 
a pittance from the government called a “pen- 
sion. ’ ’ 

His father had been a clever wood-carver in 
Bordeaux, his specialty being the figure-heads 
for the old-time sailing ships, and Matthew in- 
herited something of this gift. During his idle 
moments he was always whittling something. 
During his first months at the toll-house he 
carved many mantel-shelves, wall-brackets and 
what-nots. These he gave to the kind friends 
who had helped him when crippled he came back 
to the village where he had only lived a year 
before enlisting. He was a silent man, he could 
not express his gratitude in words; by small 
gifts he sought to show how appreciative he was 
for such spontaneous goodness. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


339 


The second period in his wood-carving was 
that of making weathervanes. He cut out of the 
soft white pine little fishes, dogs, horses, deer 
chased by hounds, birds, men and women. These 
he painted prettily, and also gave them away. 
All the boys and girls in the village became his 
friends, they wanted the little vanes to put on 
smoke-houses and wood-sheds in their shady cot- 
tage yards. It was a gay sight to see them 
spinning about briskly when the Keewaydin or 
home-wind blew. 

Then came a period when the bridge-tender 
carved no more figures, but sat moodily reading 
and re-reading a letter which at all times lay be- 
fore him on his shelf at the toll-window. Those 
who knew him well suspected that it related to 
some old love-affair, the cause probably of his 
taking up his abode in the wilds of Pennsylvania. 
It was during this time that he let his black 
beard grow, and shaved the upper lip, like the 
custom of old-time sailor men. To a few, it was 
suspected he contemplated returning to sea. But 
little use would be a crippled seaman. 

He kept a light burning all night in the tiny 
shanty, and the shade drawn up ; belated travel- 


340 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


ers often peered in to see the ponderous form 
sleeping heavily on his bench, an old-fashioned 
pistol lying beneath his folded hands. But dur- 
ing this period of soul-struggle, he was uniformly 
gentle and courteous, people pitied rather than 
blamed him. Then he shook off his lethargy, put 
the letter aside, and became the blithe spirit of 
old. 

He carved a weathervane for his own use. It 
was the sprightliest one of all. It represented a 
sailor-maid, and a sailor-man, standing at either 
end of the arrow. The figures were not more 
than six inches high, but were exquisitely done. 
The girl's face was truly beautiful, rosy 
cheeked, black haired ; he must have had a living 
model in his soul. She was attired in a blue 
blouse and skirt, with white collar and cap. The 
painting was excellent, and glistened like enam- 
eling. The tiny sailor-man was similar. He 
wore a blue blouse and trousers, and with collar 
and cap. The sailor’s black beard and red 
cheeks were noticeable features ; all the boys and 
girls said it was a model of Annot himself. When 
some of his young friends put the new vane, and 
the graceful arrow, which was gilded, on the roof 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


341 


of the shanty, it presented a brave appearance, 
swinging and rattling in the breeze. Carters, 
lumbermen, fishermen, tramps, women and chil- 
dren all stopped to admire. Ten years passed 
and it had not ceased to be a novelty. 

Meanwhile the bridge-tender’s life moved on 
uneventfully. Sometimes he was very busy, as 
lumbering operations on the high mountains 
sent a constant stream of wagons across the 
bridge. There were slack times, when he moved 
his bench out in the sunlight, and watched the 
blue, rippling river. He sometimes fished for 
shad, and was accounted a good fisherman. He 
had a pet at this time, a strange one it seemed. 
Some idle boy had shot and wounded a Great 
Blue Heron. The poor bird, broken winged and 
panic-stricken, had dropped on the bridge ap- 
proach, in front of the toll-house. The old man 
hobbled over to it, and seized it, despite its flap- 
ping of wings and frantic efforts to spear him 
with its strong bill. He tied it by one leg until 
he could build a pen for it; a dish of minnows 
and a little kindness, and it became very docile. 
Outside the shanty he constructed the pen out of 
rough boards with slats on one side; it was a 


342 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


roomy and comfortable place. The heron and the 
bridge-tender became fast friends. Ultimately 
he let the bird have its freedom, but it always 
returned at night. 

One sunshiny morning in the early spring, 
Annot was fishing for shad, with the heron 
perched beside him. He always fed it on the 
heads, tails and entrails of the fish. But some- 
times it would fly up stream, especially when it 
saw others of its kind. On this morning, having 
fed plentifully, it started out to try its wings, 
disappearing among the red birches and button- 
woods which lined the shore. There was a loud 
report of a shot-gun, and soon the heart-broken 
bridge-tender saw a stranger running towards 
him, dragging the big heron by its bill, shouting : 

1 1 See what a monster bird I killed. ’ ’ 

“What did you do that for, buddy, you have 
shot my pet heron” said Annot, his voice 
trembling with emotion. 

“You can have it” said the stranger unfeel- 
ingly. 

“I don’t want it now,” replied the bridge- 
tender. “I always hated stuffed birds.” The 
loss of the heron sent the old man back into the 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


343 


train of melancholy thoughts that had possessed 
him when he had received the letter ten years 
before. To rouse himself, he began carving 
another weathervane. This one was his most 
ambitious effort. It was an acrobat, apparently, 
dressed in white, with white cap, short white 
trousers, and black stockings. In each hand it 
held an Indian Club, which were to swing around 
in opposite directions from the figure as it 
revolved in the wind. A new generation of boys 
and girls crowded about the window to watch 
the old man work on his masterpiece. “It’s a 
good thing he lost that gandersnipe if it sets 
him to work carving” said one thoughtless wo- 
man of the neighborhood. He worked for nearly 
a month on the figure before he considered it 
perfected enough to adorn the shanty roof. The 
friendly boys, who had watched the new device 
grow from a block of pine to a little figure cor- 
rect in every detail, mounted on a gilded arrow, 
put it in place on the roof. For some reason they 
placed it on the same end as the sailor-girl and 
the sailor-man, and not very far from them. 
Despite having faced the elements for ten years, 
they were in prime condition. Every year they 


344 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


had been repainted, so that they looked as fresh 
as the time when they were first carved from the 
pine. 

The new vane was an added attraction to the 
toll-house. A big prop-timber job had opened on 
the lofty mountain. The heavy teams were con- 
stantly crossing the bridge as the props were 
shipped by canal to the coal-regions. The 
drivers lingered longer than necessary at the 
shanty, to watch the winds sway the little fig- 
ures. “Haint they the derndest things you 
ever seen” was the general comment of the team- 
sters. 

As the summer wore on folks noticed that the 
sailor-maid had exercised a powerful attraction 
over the acrobat. He was leaning towards her, 
almost touching her. The ruddy face on the 
sailor-man had grown paler, the summer heat 
was fading him quicker this year than usual. 
This was noticed by the teamsters for a long 
time, yet they disliked to mention the matter to 
the old Frenchman. But the boys and girls were 
not so circumspect. “ Mister Annot” one of 
them said, ‘ ‘your acrobat is getting bent over 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


345 


by the wind, we’re afraid he’ll soon bump into 
the sailor-girl, and both vanes’ll get broken.” 

“I suspected something was wrong” said the 
old man quietly; “they made an uncommon 
racket at night, it sounded as if one of them was 
crying ; wonder could the sailor-man been getting 
jealous?” The children did not answer, but 
looked at one another. The biggest of the boys 
climbed on the shanty roof, and straightened the 
acrobat. It was less than a week before it bent 
over towards the sailor-maid again. Before any- 
one had a chance to report it, the old man had 
noticed it. “Boys” he said, “won’t you please 
straighten that little acrobat ? It seems he can ’t 
keep away from the sailor-girl ; it makes my little 
sailor that unhappy I can ’t sleep nights. ’ ’ 

The acrobat was set right, but in a single night 
he was bending towards the pretty sailor-maid. 
“Please take down that acrobat” said old Annot, 
“and I’ll make a new base for him, so he can’t 
bend.” 

The figure was taken down, and fitted on a 
new pivot, made from a larger and more solid 
piece of wood. But despite this, it again leaned 
towards the sailor-maid. ‘ ‘ I wouldn ’t mind ’ ’ re- 


346 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


marked the old man, “only there is such an in- 
fernal noise at night, I can’t sleep.” But he 
gave no further orders to straighten the offend- 
ing manikin. “The old man’s going daffy over 
those figures” was the way in which the young 
folks dismissed the matter from their minds. It 
was during this time that the old man received 
another letter. The post-mistress, a soldier’s 
widow, said in all the years she handled the mail, 
this was only the second he had ever received, 
except of course some patent medicine advertise- 
ments and notices of reunions from his old reg- 
iment. 

Like the first letter, the second bore a foreign 
post-mark and stamp. The old man was always 
reading it, spread out on the shelf before him, 
and his face wore a troubled and weary look. 
But he never forgot to be gentle and civil with 
those who crossed the bridge. His abstraction 
over the receipt of the letter was ascribed by 
the busybodies in the little community as the 
reason he paid no attention to the acrobat’s 
awry position on the roof. But one bright morn- 
ing, after a heavy windstorm, those who crossed 
the bridge noticed that the acrobat was no longer 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


347 


to be seen, though the sailor-maid and sailor- 
man still rattled about in the morning breeze. It 
was a cool morning, but the old man was sitting 
outside the toll-house on his bench. There was a 
smile on his face, a buoyancy to his manner, that 
was quite unusual. “I see that tornado ripped 
off the little acrobat” ventured one of the team- 
sters. 

“Yes, and I’m glad of it” replied the old man, 
grinning from ear to ear. “He couldn’t be- 
have himself, was always leaning towards the 
sailor-maid, and making my little sailor-man 
so jealous, I couldn’t sleep nights.” Then both 
teamster and bridge-keeper laughed, and the 
conversation turned to other channels. 

Everyone, from teamsters to school-children 
noticed the absence of the little acrobat. They 
commented on it, and it always set the old 
Frenchman to laughing. To some he said : “ It ’s 
an ill wind that blows nobody good. ’ ’ 

A week later, the body of a man, middle-aged, 
dressed in acrobat’s costume, was found pound- 
ing against the jetties of the dam a mile below. 
Evidently he had belonged to some strolling cir- 
cus, and had either fallen or been pushed into 


348 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


the river. His head and body were covered with 
bruises, but whether these had come before or 
after he got into the water, was an open question. 
It was impossible to tell where he had fallen 
in, but the body looked as if it had been in the 
river at least a week. The county coroner could 
not solve the mystery, and the corpse was buried 
in the myrtle-carpeted graveyard on the hill. 
“It’s a bad month for acrobats” said the old 
bridge-tender rather cheerfully, when the story 
was told to him. “ It -s an ill wind that blows no- 
body good.” A traveling pony circus was 
found at Hummel's Wharf, and all hands de- 
tained, but no connection could be proved be- 
tween them and the body taken from the river, 
forty miles below. That closed the incident as 
far as the law went. 

A month and a half later another letter was 
received by the old Frenchman. He actually 
forgot his limp, for he walked all the way to the 
post-office to personally drop the reply into the 
letter-box, two hours later. His spirits became 
very high, he laughed like a school-boy. A week 
afterwards he announced that he had worked 
long enough, twenty years in one place was a 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


349 


good service, let a younger man have the job. He 
had saved up enough he said and with his pen- 
sion he could be comfortable. Besides he was 
going back to France, to be married, he saw his 
way clear now. It was with regret that the 
bridge-owners let him go, he was as efficient as 
popular and picturesque. But they could not 
detain him, so off he went. “ It ’s an ill wind that 
blows nobody good” he said as he boarded the 
train for Harrisburg. 



XX 


ELPHE SODEN. 
(Story of Two River Towns.) 


HERE was a great crowd in Pa- 
triot Square watching the 
election returns. They repre- 
sented all classes of humanity, 
almost all colors. They were 
good-natured, alert, watchful, 
and above all, patient. The 
important news was a long 
time coming, and in the inter- 
vals stereopticon pictures of well-known 
statesmen were thrown on the big sheet. Every 
few minutes a clanging trolley car, brilliantly 
lighted, would plough its way through the 
throng, the surging mass of humanity falling 
back like dark furrows. Often automobiles, filled 
with merrymakers, and decked with flags and 
streamers, would attempt the tactics of the trol- 
350 



SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


351 


leys, but it would take much tooting of horns, 
and good natured raillery to force a passage. 

On the four corners of the square, beneath the 
glow of the street lamps stood many parents, 
holding aloft infants. They feared to risk the 
precious burdens to the middle of the thorough- 
fare. The tiny folks took little notice of the 
bright lights or magic-lantern views; sometimes 
they pricked up their ears when the band on the 
steps of the newspaper office struck up a lively 
air. But most of all they were interested in the 
gay young figures flitting about in a dancing school 
in the fourth story of a building across the way. 
The shades were up, and sometimes between dances 
the young people would throw open the windows, 
leaning out to watch the crowds in the square 
below. It was a scene full of life and animation, 
one to destroy the ennui that comes to very 
youthful dwellers in interior towns. It was the 
false gaiety that many misinterpret as the joy of 
living. 

Once when an impromptu marching club of 
lads shouting gaily, none of whom were old 
enough to vote, cut a swath through the assem- 
blage, the figure of an unusually pretty young 


352 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


girl was disclosed. She could not have been over 
sixteen years of age, she had the willowy lines 
of the first blossoming period, and she clung 
tightly to the arm of a girl friend, perhaps two 
years older, more fully developed, and almost as 
pretty. The very young girl was a star of 
the first magnitude as far as beauty went; any 
eye, skilled or unskilled, could tell that at first 
glance. She was one of those rare master-works 
that are turned out now and again by the half- 
hearted potters in the celestial workshop. Like 
most of the fascinating women of every age and 
clime, she was a blonde; her fairness was of the 
golden order, and not the pale flaxen, which pos- 
sesses no charms at all. She was above the mid- 
dle height, as graceful as she was slender. She 
wore a small blue velvet bonnet, all the world 
like a baby cap, with the velvet ribbons tied 
under her chin. From the corners of the cap 
tufts of her frizzy gold hair were flying out. Her 
rosy face was round like a baby’s, as were her 
big blue eyes. Her arched nose turned up just 
a trifle at the end, her sensitive lips, inclined to 
fullness, were very red. She wore a tight-fitting 
blue cloth jacket and skirt. Over her shoulders 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


353 


was a large lace collar or Bertha, which further 
accentuated the baby-like appearance. She had 
carried the sweetness and innocence of the cra- 
dle into her teens. She possessed a sense of hu- 
mor, and laughed at everything that happened; 
the night was a merry one to her. Strictly 
brought up, and closely watched at home, be- 
cause of her rare beauty, she was glad to be out 
this one night, to feel perfectly free. Her name, 
Elphe Soden, was as bizarre and attractive as 
her appearance; hers was a personality bound 
for a voyage through picturesque channels. 

Her friend, Marie Neff, eighteen years old, 
just out of high school, and more or less ex- 
perienced in the ways of men, was an inch short- 
er in stature, in coloring her eyes were hazel, 
her hair dark brown. She had the same type 
of nose as Elphe, which always indicates extreme 
powers of fascination. While her influence on 
the younger girl could not be bad, the watchful 
parents feared that Marie would prove of a 
jealous nature. Already she had been crossed in 
love ; they knew that if she saw her young friend 
running into realms of perfect bliss, she would 
rebel, and try to thwart her plans. 


354 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


In the crowd was a dashing young traveling 
man, or “drummer,” who was watching the fair 
Elphe intently. He had not seen her until the 
marching club parted the throng, although for 
probably half an hour she had stood within a 
few feet of him. He had become weary sitting at 
the window of the hotel lobby, with his feet on the 
sill, and had strolled out to mingle with the elec- 
tion night merrymakers. He was of the type that 
is always successful with women. The scientists 
say that such a man closely approaches “the 
type of the race, ’ ’ and women subconsciously are 
striving for the ideal. Such men generally cross 
a woman’s path once in a lifetime, they are 
scarce, and once seen, haunt her memory to the 
grave. She measures other men on this pattern, 
and of course they fall short, and she cannot feel 
completely happy with anyone. The traveling 
man knew his powers, and once he saw the fair 
young girl, edged nearer to her, so she could see 
him. He was flashily dressed; he knew that 
would always charm, especially in an inland 
town, where the social position of strangers is 
often measured by the width of trousers, the pad- 
ding of shoulders. His face was round, indicat- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


355 


ing good food and gratified passions, there was a 
dimple in his full chin. His eyes were blue, and 
never at rest, always glancing from one thing to 
another, the unstable eyes that women think are 
worth trying to conquer. His short nose was 
lacking in bridge, but the celar blue eyes, and the 
white even teeth which he displayed on every 
possible occasion more than remedied this defect. 
He had fine dark lashes and brows, and his full 
head of hair was curly and black. He often 
took off his narrow-brimmed brown derby, to 
show off his abundant locks. He had good 
healthy color, and despite a tendency to stout- 
ness, was well made. His brown suit was cut 
college style, making him a sure winner with the 
girls. His age was probably twenty-eight, 
though he was as experienced as most men of 
fifty. Hardened by the advances of a thousand 
attractive women, he was indifferent to most of 
the sex. 

Yet when he saw Elphe Soden he instantly ad- 
mitted to himself that she was the most beautiful 
girl he had ever seen. He wanted to know her at 
once, he who boasted that he would not walk 
around the corner to meet the most beautiful wo- 


356 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


man living. His name was Clyde Bauchle, he 
traveled for a leading cigar company, and while 
he had lived in many states, had been born near 
Allentown. It is from the “Pennsylvania Ger- 
man Capital” that spring many of the most 
winning figures in the worlds of stage, circus, 
turf, and gay life generally. Clyde Bauchle 
was a shining example of a Pennsylvania Ger- 
man high-roller, or man of the world. 

Elphe was not long in spying him, she nudged 
her friend, and both looked long and admiringly 
at the jaunty Adonis. They tried to catch his 
eye, but could not, his glance was too furtive, too 
restive. This piqued them, could it be that this 
attractive stranger saw nothing in them worthy 
of notice. But Clyde was only playing his game 
well, aided by his unstable, soulless eyes. They 
were eyes with surface, but without depth. The 
returns were slow at coming in, the faces of the 
same statesmen had been projected on the big 
sheet time and time again. The girls became 
restless, partly at the lack of news, partly be- 
cause of their proximity to the handsome 
stranger. Elphe whispered to her friend that it 
was time to be moving homeward, and holding 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


357 


tighter to one another, they elbowed their way 
through the crowd. 

They passed close by the traveling man, who 
caught Elphe ’s eye and smiled. The battle was 
won, although Marie felt chagrined that the 
greeting went to Elphe and not to her. The 
traveling man took off his hat, and began the 
conversation as if he had known the girls all his 
life. It was charming how neatly he went about 
it. Not a person in the crowd could have sus- 
pected that he was anything but an old family 
friend. He walked with the girls to Elphe ’s 
home, as Marie had pretended she must see her 
young friend indoors first. He lingered quite a 
while on the steps, getting her permission to call 
and to write to her before he left. He only 
walked with Marie as far as the corner of the 
street where she lived, he wished her the most 
frigid of good nights. Marie knew she was a 
pretty girl, that many men admired her. She 
roiled inwardly at such marked favoritism. It 
only made her like the showy stranger the more 
for his indifference. Towards Elphe arose in her 
a sense of jealous hatred, a desire to wreak on 
her a soul-crushing revenge. It scorched her pride 


358 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


to feel that twice when walking in the direction 
of her home she had asked him to call on her, but 
he had not deigned to reply. 

Two weeks later he returned to the town, and 
spent a long evening with Elphe. The fair girl, 
on her guard as all women must be, did not tell 
her friend of his expected visit, but the next 
morning, bright and early, though she was feel- 
ing wretchedly tired, hurried to break the joyous 
news. Marie tried to look unconcerned, but de- 
spite her efforts, could not refrain from asking 
if he had inquired after her. Perhaps Elphe 
should have fibbed and said “yes,” but the de- 
sire for sole triumph was too great in her, so she 
said he had never mentioned her name. Re- 
vengeful feelings became stronger in Marie than 
ever, though she was usually a mild girl. She 
was impotent to think of anything definite how- 
ever. 

Clyde began making special weekly visits to 
town to see Elphe, shortly after this. She always 
told about them to her friend the mornings after- 
wards, which stimulated her deep-seated hate. 
Apart from the subject of the handsome travel- 
ingman, Marie truly loved the young chum and 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


359 


otherwise would not have harmed her. She could 
not understand why he preferred Elphe to her, 
and was so brutal in showing it. It takes years’ 
experience, and study to understand and over- 
look the seeming injustices of life. Clyde’s vis- 
its consumed over a year of Elphe ’s life, yet he 
made no move to propose marriage. The young 
girl, who was still attending high school, gave up 
all her boy friends, neglected her girl friends, 
was insolent and undutiful to her parents. 

Marie still clung to her, as she expected Clyde 
to tire of her suddenly and drop her ; she wanted 
to be on hand to gloat over her ignominious 
downfall. 

But the night after Christmas, the traveling 
man spoke the long expected words. Elphe and 
he were together in the cozy front parlor, on 
their favorite upholstered Morris chair; she was 
on his lap of course, with her beautiful arms 
around his flabby, rather thin, neck. The single 
gas jet was turned low, but a score of tiny lights 
twinkled in the dark foliage of the Christmas 
tree. The hard-coal fire had burned low in the 
open grate; outside the sleet beat incessantly 
against the window panes. Elphe had hardly ex- 


360 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


pected such joy as came to her. Out of a conver- 
sation most commonplace had arisen the words of 
love. He asked her to marry him, in a month if 
possible. All the startled girl could reply was 
“Yes, yes, I love you very much.” Then she 
smothered his beefy smooth face with kisses. It 
was arranged that he return in the morning to 
ask her parents’ consent; he must come early 
before her father left for the big department 
store where he was the head accountant. 

The parents were surprised, but took the mat- 
ter philosophically. They had been afraid that 
Clyde’s intentions were not serious; Marie and 
other friends had hinted this to them. They 
feared if he deserted her it would send the girl 
into a decline. Now that he had asked for her 
hand, it was best to give their consent, though 
the girl lacked six months of being eighteen. 

The consent given, Clyde hurried to catch a 
train for York, while Elphe flew over the icy 
pavements to tell the news to Marie. The girl 
was dumbfounded, but forced a smile and gave 
her congratulations. Clyde was devoted during 
the period before the wedding. He was at his 
fiancee’s home at least twice a week, he made all 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


361 


kinds of promises for the future. He would take 
an apartment in Philadelphia. This was the best 
piece of news of all. Elphe had envied only one 
class of people ; they were the ones who went to 
live in the great city. It was as much of Heaven 
as she could grasp, merely to live there. She 
told about going to live in Philadelphia on all 
sides; she dug up discarded acquaintances just 
to impart this choice bit of joy. Never had she 
looked so beautiful as this month of expectancy 
before the wedding; a thousand hopes made a 
crown of loveliness around her fair young face. 
No bride-to-be ever looked into the future so 
confident of happiness. She knew she was to 
marry a handsome man, he would take her to 
Philadelphia to live, that was enough. 

The wedding was a quiet affair, attended by 
Elphe ’s relatives and close friends. Marie was 
the only person present who noticed that the 
bridegroom brought no one with him. Even the 
Methodist preacher who tied the knot was the 
Sodens ’ family pastor. A wedding trip to such 
delectable spots as Atlantic City and New York 
was taken. Then the young couple moved into 
their apartment in Philadelphia, and for a time 


362 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


were supposedly happy. Perhaps all did go 
well at first. But if it hadn’t, Elphe would 
have never told. When at Easter time she came 
home for a visit alone, with a basket containing 
a red azalea in one hand, she was full of enthus- 
iastic accounts of the theatres and shops, the gay 
life of the Quaker metropolis. But she was 
somewhat reticent concerning Cylde. He only 
wrote to her once while she was home, and this 
caused her much anxiety. She wrote him daily, 
and when she did not get a second letter, sent 
him three or four telegrams. She tried to get / 
him on the long distance telephone repeatedly, 
but was unsuccessful. Fearing he was ill, she 
cut short her visit and started for Philadelphia. 
What happened upon her return there will never 
be known, but in forty-eight hours she was back 
with her parents, this time for good. Marie 
said she confided to her that she found a well- 
known show girl installed in the apartment, and 
had offered Clyde the choice between the two, 
and that he had selected the actress. Further 
than that she hinted that she discovered he 
had only married her to make the show girl jeal- 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


363 


ous, as she had taken up with the son of a noted 
millionaire. 

At any rate, Elphe 's brief romance was ended, 
much to the grief of her devoted parents, and to 
the ill-concealed joy of Marie Neff. Elphe was 
loathe to tell the true story to her parents, and 
was always blaming herself for not having for- 
given Clyde. But after a year, when he showed 
no signs of coming hack, she reluctantly gave in- 
formation to the family lawyer which enabled 
him to get her a speedy divorce. But divorce did 
not bring her happiness, she was lonelier and 
more melancholy than ever. 

Family friends tried to entertain her, they 
invited her to camping parties on the river, and 
during August to Cape May. Most of these in- 
vitations were refused, but she consented to go 
to the shore. She liked the sea-coast, part of her 
honeymoon had been spent on it. 

The house-party at Cape May was given by 
one of her mother's old friends, a woman happily 
married, who had several grown-up sons ; one of 
whom was a recent bridegroom. The guests in- 
cluded the three sons, and girl friends of the 
young bride. 


364 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


There was a young man named Walton Cres- 
son stopping at a nearby hotel. He had gone to 
school at Mercersburg with the young men at 
whose home Elphe was stopping. He was a 
prosperous young business man in a town not 
quite a hundred miles up the river from the fair 
girl’s home. He saw Elphe, and like most men, 
was smitten by her charms. He obtained an in- 
troduction, and soon showed himself to be deeply 
in love. He was good-looking, gentlemanly and 
generous, so Elphe could not treat him as rudely 
as she had most men she met since the night she 
first fell in with Clyde, the despoiler of her 
young life. But she surely gave him no en- 
couragement as a lover. He was with her con- 
stantly all through her visit at the shore. He 
got up picnics, dances and sailing parties, took 
her driving, and showed not only Elphe, but her 
friends, a splendid time. He asked permission 
to come to see her after she returned home; the 
privilege was reluctantly given. Perhaps she 
had hoped to see no more of him when she left 
the resort. 

For over a year or about as long as Clyde 
Bauchle was attentive, Walton Cresson pressed 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


365 


his suit. The only difference was Cresson pro- 
posed marriage after a week’s acquaintance, it 
took Clyde over a year. Elphe refused the 
young business man bluntly, but he was un- 
daunted. She conlided this to her friend Marie, 
who advised her to accept him. In the jealous 
girl’s mind arose the thought that if her chum 
was married to another man, perhaps she might 
meet Clyde in town, and get him to call on her, 
and by writing it to Elphe, make her miserably 
unhappy. She was actuated by no desire to see 
her close friend obtain happiness in life. 

Finally Elphe did accept the persistent suitor, 
and was quietly married to him. There was a 
marked difference in this ceremony. Elphe ’s 
face was serious throughout; a score of Cres- 
son ’s good friends were present. 

After a wedding trip to Washington and Old 
Point Comfort, the young couple settled in a 
handsome mansion in a shady street overlooking 
the river, in the old town where the bridegroom 
had spent all his life. Marie was invited to visit 
the couple. She saw evidences of comfort and 
refinement, of Elphe ’s popularity with her hus- 
band’s large circle of friends, of the young man’s 


366 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


great love for his beautiful bride. But none of 
these things made her jealous. The reason for 
this was that as soon as she arrived Elphe had 
foolishly confided to her that while she liked her 
husband, and her new home, she still loved Clyde 
Bauchle, and would never forgive herself for 
leaving him. 

It pained Marie to realize that Elphe had found 
two husbands, while she, a girl almost as pretty, 
could not get any. Perhaps she loved Clyde too 
much to make herself agreeable to eligible men. 
But Elphe confessed to the same thing, yet was 
married to an attractive man. The young peo- 
ple gave parties for her, tried to get her inter- 
ested in well-known young men of the town, but 
could not make any headway on either side. 
Loveless though she was, Marie went back to her 
home in a happy frame of mind, because she 
knew that Elphe was unhappy. That seemed to 
be her greatest joy in life, she was a human 
mistletoe. 

One afternoon a couple of months after her 
return she was walking across Patriot Square on 
her way to a tea given by members of her old 
high school sorority. She saw a jaunty figure, 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


367 


‘‘a symphony in brown” coming towards her. 
It was Clyde Bauchle. Dressed from head to 
foot in what he still considered his most becom- 
ing color, and carrying a small bamboo cane, 
he was calculated to make any unsophisticated 
feminine heart stand still. That very morning 
a girl in the railway station had said so he could 
hear : “ I love my husband, but oh, you ! ’ ’ And 
he was always hearing nice things like that. The 
girls just wouldn’t keep away. When he saw 
Marie, instead of being distant like in the past, 
he smiled showing off his pearly white teeth, and 
holding out his immaculately gloved hand. He 
spoke pleasantly for a few minutes, but made no 
reference to Elphe or the past. Marie forgot her 
own desires, revenge now might be at hand. 
‘ £ I ’ve just come from a visit to your former wife, 
Elphe. She’s still dead in love with you; she’s 
terribly unhappy with her new husband.” At 
this Clyde straightened himself up, and showed 
his fox-like white teeth from ear to ear. “Why 
don’t you go to see her some time when you’re 
passing through her burg, she’d go crazy to see 
you.” Clyde continued to show his teeth, but 
made no answer. He accompanied Marie to the 


368 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


steps of the house where the tea was held, paying 
her compliments, and asking if he might call. 

When she got indoors among her friends they 
all crowded around her, asking the name of the 
handsome man with whom she was walking, for 
they had been peeping through the curtains. 
“He’s a dream in brown,” said one dark girl, 
rolling her eyes upward. 

But Clyde did not call on Marie, nor had he 
any intention of so doing. He merely used her 
to get the information he desired about his 
former wife. He knew she still loved him, he 
would show this to her new husband very 
shortly. He kept smiling and showing his gleam- 
ing teeth like a fox in a well-filled hen-roost. He 
would take his time about visiting his former 
wife. He would let Marie send a letter as she 
surely would, telling her of the meeting, by mak- 
ing her wait it would cause her desire to see him 
to reach the boiling point. He had often been 
in the town where she lived, he knew her hus- 
band and his habits, by repute, very well. 

While Marie expected him to upset the con- 
nubial bliss, she never dreamed the scheme that 
evolved itself in his head. Six weeks passed, he 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


369 


waited to make his move Hke the human fox that 
he was. Every day he tarried the more sweep- 
ing his success would be. 

At length the day arrived, and he dropped off 
the train in Elphe’s town about one o’clock in 
the afternoon. He sauntered down the main 
street, looking boldly into the windows of the 
big emporium with the sign “Cresson and Son” 
above the door — the concern which the unsus- 
pecting bridegroom inherited from his father, 
and which he now conducted with such marked 
ability. Every woman who passed turned 
around and looked after him; he was surely a 
ladies’ man par excellence. 

He turned into the shady street which led 
along the river bank. Birds were singing in the 
old elms and maples, the air was sweet with the 
scent of newly-cut grass and old-fashioned 
flowers. Old colored gardeners were working 
in some of the ample yards. The river sparkled 
in the afternoon sunlight; beyond the rolling 
fields on the opposite shore, the dim lines of the 
White Deer Mountains loomed like mediaeval 
battlements against the horizon. All was so 
peaceful, so still, so serene, so sweet, not like the 


370 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


field for a sordid episode by any means. He 
reached the comfortable brick mansion. A foun- 
tain was playing in the yard, there were many 
beds of hyderangias about the well-kept lawn. 
Old maples and lindens along the sidewalks 
drooped heavy shade over the premises. 

On the piazza, in a red hammock lay Elphe, 
attired in a sky blue filmy gowm, fanning her- 
self, and reading a novel. She heard the front 
gate open, she looked up, beholding the idol 
of her dreams. With a pretty twist of her dainty 
skirts, a quick motion to adjust her tangled hair, 
she was on her feet, and came running forward 
to meet him. Clyde took off his inevitable derby 
hat, and shook her by the hand, smirking and 
showing his glistening teeth with all the effusive- 
ness inherent to ill-bred men. He did not mince 
words. “I have come to take you away with 
me,” he began. “You cannot be happy with any- 
one but me. I am sorry I let you go that time 
in Philadelphia. ’ ’ 

Elphe, who looked just as beautiful and young, 
and like a baby-doll, as she did the eventful 
meeting-night in Patriot Square, beamed into his 
eyes saying: “Yes, yes, I knew you would come 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


371 


for me. First love is the only love that lasts.’ ’ 
He made a move as if to clasp her in his arms, 
but she motioned to him to come up the steps, 
indoors. They sprang up the steps, and were 
inside in a jiffy. The heavy ground-glass door 
shut with a bang, they were together in the dark 
hall. Elphe, crazed with delight, threw her 
arms around the traveling man’s neck, he was 
not a tall man ; holding on to him with a grip of 
iron, she rained kisses on his eyes, cheeks, fore- 
head, mouth indiscriminately. 

Clyde showing his teeth, and with unstable 
eyes ablaze with passion, was trying to talk. At 
length he stammered : * 1 Get your things at once 
and board the first trolley that passes the door 
for Derrstown. I’ll follow on the next car and 
meet you there. We can get a team and cross 
the river in time to get the four-forty express 
east from Sunbury. When that husband of yours 
comes home from the store, he will find he has 
the nest all to himself. ’ ’ 

Elphe kissed and kissed him again, and 
whispered: “I don’t want to carry anything ex- 
cept my money and jewelry, which will fit easily 
in my vanity bag. ” She ran upstairs, flung on a 


372 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


long automobile coat, jammed on her pretty 
head a small bonnet very like the baby-cap of 
Patriot Square days, collected her jewelry and 
money, and rushed down again. With a parting 
caress and kiss, she ran out the door, down the 
tar-pebble path, just in time to board the car. 
Twenty minutes later Clyde was on another car 
bound in the same direction. As it jolted along 
he began to do some thinking. “I’ll only keep 
her a week, and then I ’ll skip ; she can go back 
to her folks. I only want to show that guy she 
married who’s the whole show.” 

At six-fifteen Walton Cresson reached his 
home. The German servant girl who had been 
taking a nap all afternoon knew nothing of her 
mistress’ whereabouts. A novel, “Anna Ka- 
renina,” a box of chocolates, and a fan were 
found by the red hammock on the porch. Upstairs 
the bureau drawers were in a state of disarray; 
all the jewelry was gone. But the grief-stricken 
husband did not suspect that she had gone off 
with Clyde Bauchle, her former husband. She 
might be at Lewis’ Lake with friends resting 
from domestic cares. 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


373 


It was only when six days later he received a 
telegram from her from New York saying she 
was stranded there and penniless that the truth 
began to dawn on him. Kind and just that he 
was, the affair struck him with horror and dis- 
gust. When he composed a reply, it read: “Can 
do nothing for you. Have communicated with 
your parents ; they may send for you. ’ ’ 



XXI. 


THE WHITE DEER. 
(Story of Kettle Creek.) 


T was the first day of “trout 
season” at the Ox Bow. The 
weather was decidedly dis- 
agreeable with gusts of bitter 
wind and cold rain. The skel- 
eton arms of the dead hem- 
locks along the creek rattled 
in the icy blasts. Probably 
because of the near approach 
of dinner-hour half a dozen rubber-coated fisher- 
men had gathered in the bar-room of Jim 
Hamersley’s hotel. Most of them were liberal, 
convivial fellows from Williamsport and Sun- 
bury. They were lavish with the treats they be- 
stowed upon the “natives” who were idling 
about the place. The news seemed to spread in 
some mysterious manner, as a steady stream of 
mountaineers flocked down from the high peaks, 
374 



SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


375 


to share in the largess. At the last “round” be- 
fore dinner was announced, thirty-three men by 
actual count lined up at the bar. But the genial 
railroader who footed the bill never winced. 

Outside on the porch-bench sat old Jakey Van 
Alen, a wooden-bucket, with a burlap tied over it 
at his feet. The bucket was filled with magnifi- 
cent trout, which he had caught before daylight ; 
these he might present to some unfortunate 
angler, for a gift in return. 

The frequenters of the desolate backwoods 
hotel were easy to get acquainted with, and all 
were eager to tell their hard luck stories. 
Summed up their plaints were pretty much the 
same. They all related to the passing of the lum- 
bering industry in the narrow valley, which left 
them stranded with homes or farms which they 
could not dispose of. They were mostly middle- 
aged men, of many different races, New Eng- 
landers, New Yorkers, Irishmen, Germans, Penn- 
sylvanians, as they lived in what would be called 
a “new country.” But at any rate all the nat- 
ural resources of this “new country” had van- 
ished in a third of a century or less. 


376 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


Old Lew Phoenix was loudest in his com- 
plaint. “We could have lumbered in these moun- 
tains for a hundred years if it hadn’t been for 
the Goodyears. We did it slowly, and while we 
marketed one crop of logs, another was growing. 
Now those big millionaires put narrow guages 
into every hollow, and on every mountain top, 
and skinned out every stick of timber in ten 
years. Then the fires went through and we had 
trouble even to save our homes. Some of us did 
lose our barns and crops. After the fires there 
wasn’t even an animal left to trap ; why you can 
travel a day and never see a chipmunk. ’ ’ 

The younger men had deserted the lonely val- 
ley, for the most part going to work on the rail- 
roads, but the old folks were stranded in the 
desert with their real estate. But these same 
men had gladly welcomed the “big lumbermen” 
if they would be frank enough to admit it ; they 
were all given work, occupation for their teams, 
market for their hay and produce at good prices 
— for a time. When the last log was whisked 
away, they found themselves stranded like 
whales on a beach. No wonder they would walk 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


377 


miles to imbibe a little conviviality and a chance 
to unload their burden of sorrows. 

The gaunt bartender kept piling wood into the 
huge whitewashed stove, but even at that the at- 
mosphere was damp and penetrating. After the 
dinner the fishermen hated to go back to the 
frigid creek ; a couple of them were already con- 
versing in undertones with Jakey Van Alen. 

Back of the stove during all this busy scene 
sat an old man with a long blonde beard turning 
white. He was of handsome appearance, de- 
spite his incessant tobacco chewing. He sat rigid 
as a statue with hands folded across his knees, 
watching the gay kaleidoscope. He always re- 
fused to line up at the bar, but once accepted 
with evident gratitude, a paper of tobacco. He 
had clear blue eyes, high cheek bones, an aquiline 
nose, his might have been the face of a painter 
or a poet. It seems a pity when men do not live 
up to their faces, for a noble countenance has 
the possibilities of world power. A man with an 
ignoble face, a short nose, try as he may, can 
never be any greater than the salary he draws — 
except in his own estimation. Here Nature 


378 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


sometimes lowers a rosy curtain and he sees 
himself pictured among the great. 

One of the fishermen evidently accepted 
Jakey’s liberality, for he got in the stage, plus a 
basket full of fine trout, and started for the 
railroad. The others returned to the Creek. 
The idlers separated in groups of two or three. 
A dozen of them walked over the bridge to where 
another of their kind with much misdirected 
superfluous energy was chopping down a superb 
white pine which stood across the road from the 
little white church. The few idlers who still 
lingered about the bar fell to discussing deer 
hunting, how under the present laws these ani- 
mals were rapidly increasing in their region. 
‘ ‘ It ’s too bad ’ ’ remarked one, ‘ ‘ that they ’re get- 
ting so much smaller. In the old days the stags 
were twice the size, had much bigger antlers, 
were wilder and gamer. Now and then we’d 
run across a white deer; it always took a silver 
bullet to lay him out. By spring the hide would 
turn grey; that was why we were sure that 
white deer were linked with the devil himself.” 

We asked if any of those present had seen a 
white deer; they all had, and one or two had 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


379 


shot them. “They weren’t much satisfaction af- 
ter you killed them; their meat went bad in a 
night, their hides would turn grey.” This in- 
teresting information caused one of the fisher- 
men, who had re-entered the bar-room, to order 
another round of drinks. 

After that, as the afternoon was getting late, 
all left the room except the bartender, who began 
to doze against the sideboard, and the old pa- 
triarch back of the stove. We sat beside him, 
and asked him if he had done much hunting. 
He answered slowly, with a decided German ac- 
cent; evidently he was a foreigner. “Yes, I’ve 
hunted a good deal” he said. “I got here when 
the wild pigeons were so plentiful that their 
flights darkened the sun. I was here before the 
last elk was killed by Jimmy Jacobson, when 
there were still wolves, panthers, otters, fishers, 
and wolverenes. I never killed an elk, but I’ve 
brought in most everything else. Now if there’s 
an otter on the whole length of the creek I don’t 
know of him ; there may be a fox or two, a few 
raccoons and groundhogs. The forest fires and 
the bounties wiped out all the wild life; a few 
got what belonged to all our citizens. I had a 


380 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


queer experience with a white deer, soon after I 
came into this wilderness forty years ago. All 
the big timber was standing then, but I cut a 
little hole in it, and there I lived happily for a 
while. All kinds of game was so numerous it 
was looked upon as a nuisance. I didn’t 
feel that way, as I was born in the old 
country, in Bohemia, where we were taught 
to value it. Late one afternoon in Spring — I 
know it was early in the season for the skunk 
cabbages had just come out — I was in my little 
garden, pulling up old roots, and setting things 
to rights generally for the planting. Something 
caused me to look up from my work, and I saw, 
standing on the far side of my log fence, a beau- 
tiful white fawn. It was a doe, and had soft 
brown eyes like a gazelle, though most of our old 
hunters in this valley say a white deer must have 
pink eyes. It kept looking at me and wasn’t a 
bit shy, so I decided it wanted to be fed. I went 
in the house and brought out a piece of bread, 
some sugar and a few nice cabbage leaves. The 
white fawn stretched its neck across the fence 
and ate as if it was hungry ; then to my surprise, 
it licked my hands. I stroked its pretty head, 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


381 


then it trotted off into the forest. I decided not 
to say anything about it to my friends, as they 
would only try to shoot it; even though they 
knew no one could eat a white deer’s flesh. By 
keeping my own counsel, I had no trouble at all. 
The deer returned every afternoon at the same 
time, becoming a great pet. It could not be 
coaxed across the fence, but I was satisfied to see 
as much of it as I did. 

I kept a couple of cross wolf-dogs at that time, 
but for some reason they took to the fawn, and 
would not tongue at its approach. If a Canada 
lynx was within half a mile of my cabin they 
would set up a terrific howl, there was no holding 
them when a wolf was nigh. But they wagged 
their tails, and frisked around the garden like 
puppies at sight of my deer. The deer had no 
fear of them; it seemed like a regular “happy 
family.” Even my six- toed cat, which I kept 
for good luck, became friendly with the deer. 

Where it came from, and why it had no com- 
panions was always a source of surprise to me; 
I devoted much thought to the subject. It al- 
ways came at the same hour, and towards the last 
of summer this happened to be at dusk. It made 


382 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


a pretty picture coming so white and pure out of 
the gloomy pine-wood. Under kind treatment 
and plenty of food it seemed to grow; I believe 
it was twice as big in September as it had been 
the day it first appeared to me. On account of 
my interest in that deer the summer passed rap- 
idly; despite my hard work, I had felt lonely 
ever since I left the old country, now I was con- 
tented. I felt happier just to feed it than to 
spend my evenings down at the post office for 
there was no hotel in those days. I was begin- 
ning to feel that a pioneer’s life wasn’t so bad 
after all. 

One afternoon I was busy getting in my po- 
tatoes, heavy frost had been predicted, but I kept 
an eye out for my deer. At her coming I would 
drop everything for a few minutes; she always 
gave me more strength to finish my day’s work 
than if I hadn’t seen her. At about the regular 
time that afternoon I looked up. To my be- 
wilderment, instead of the white deer, there 
stood on the opposite side of the fence, my old 
sweetheart, Berthe Kersteins, whom I had left in 
Bohemia, with her hands stretched out to me. 
I dropped my hoe, and bounded to the fence, for 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


383 


I was a lively young chap in those days. The 
figure of the young girl had not stirred, but her 
lips were moving as if she was trying to say 
something. I stopped a moment to listen, I 
could not catch a word, so I started to climb the 
fence. There was a sweet smile in the girl’s 
lovely brown eyes, evidently she was glad to see 
me, but her lips kept moving pitifully. Just as 
my hands clasped hers — they felt like real flesh 
and blood — she faded away into nothing. I sank 
down on the fence, heartbroken and exhausted. 
The sudden realization came over me that my 
loneliness had been for her, that the presence of 
the white deer had made my situation tolerable. 
As soon as my head felt better I clambered off 
the fence, and ran headlong into the forest, in 
the direction I imagined she must have vanished. 
I don’t know how far I ran, but it was pitch 
dark when breathless, I was compelled to halt. 
I lay down in a heap, and could not get up un- 
til daybreak. When I did arise, I dragged my- 
self, a shadow of my former self, back to my 
shanty. My mind was flooded with an awful 
tide of retribution and remorse. I saw every- 
thing clearly now. 


384 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


Fifteen years before I had left my native vil- 
lage, full of high hopes as to what I was to ac- 
complish in the new world, the land of the free. 
I had promised my sweetheart that as soon as I 
provided a little home, I would send for her, and 
we would be married. All the way across the 
ocean I danced and sang, I was so full of life, so 
sure I would win my way. The first sight of 
New York chilled my dreams. It looked as old 
and weary and heartless as anything I had left 
behind. I found vested interests, class distinc- 
tions, injustice, poverty, just as in the old world. 
I even had a difficult time to get employment. It 
was hard to exist, let alone to think of providing 
a home. I heard life was easier in Philadelphia, 
so I tramped there, but found the inevitable 
struggle. To Pittsburg I next beat my way, and 
I wasted my best years in the blast furnaces. 

My letters to Berthe had been fewer and less 
hopeful; hers were always full of love and con- 
fidence. She did not know. 

After ten years of misery, including several 
accidents, and discouragement, I learned of the 
wilderness in Northern Pennsylvania. There 
land could be had almost for the asking, there 




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SUSQUEHANNA RIVER AND INDIAN ISLAND, NEAR LOCK HAVEN, PA. 

Photo by H. W. Swope 



SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


385 


were no classes, no taskmasters, there was a liv- 
ing for all. When I left Pittsburg I resolved to 
cut myself off from my sweetheart, at least until 
I would find if what I heard was true, I could 
provide a home. When I reached the wilderness 
I found it jus’t as promised, hut the task was a 
terrible one to clear enough ground on which to 
erect a shack. I now decided not to write until I 
had the ground cleared and planted, the house 
erected. For a year I lived in a lean-to of hem- 
lock boughs, subsisting mostly off the animals 
and birds I killed, wild fruits and berries. When 
I did put up my shanty I surveyed it with dis- 
gust. Was this the best I could do after twelve 
years ’ toil in the new world, the land of the free ! 

I postponed writing until I got a better house, 
but as time wore on I became selfish and indiffer- 
ent. I decided not to write at all; Berthe had 
doubtless forgotten me during my two or three 
years’ silence, had most likely married some one 
else. I cut her out of my mind and heart, yet I 
was frightfully lonely. Thus it is that the strug- 
gle for existence dulls our loftiest instincts. I 
had never identified her as the cause of my lone- 


386 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


liness until I saw her vision standing outside my 
garden fence that autumn evening. 

When I returned to my shanty with much 
difficulty I unearthed some writing paper — I had 
not written a letter to a soul in five years. The 
last letter I wrote was to a poor girl in Pittsburg, 
returning five dollars she had loaned me, when I 
was in distress. In my letter to my beloved 
Berthe I poured out my heart, explained my dis- 
appointments and poverty; I begged her for- 
giveness; I stated I would enclose an order to 
pay her passage to America. When she reached 
New York she should write me and I would go 
there and accompany her to my mountain home. 
As a postscript I told her of my vision, could 
she have been thinking of me at that time ? 

I tramped down the mountain path to the 
little post office — Leidy — named probably for the 
famous Pennsylvania scientist, and asked my 
good friend, Abner Brooks, the postmaster, to 
get me a money order the next time he went to 
the county town. I left the letter and the money 
with him. I returned to my clearing just at 
dusk. I looked in vain for the vision of Berthe, 
or even the white deer. On the next evening I 


SUSQUEHANNA LEGENDS 


387 


watched, but saw nothing, and so on for many 
weary evenings. Winter came on, I was lone- 
lier than ever, yet when I thought I should be 
getting a reply to my letter, that would cheer my 
most dejected moments. 

I often visited the post-office, and one evening 
a letter was handed me. It was from Bohemia, 
but it wasn’t Berthe’s handwriting. I opened 
it in the office, I was so excited, I couldn’t wait. 
To my sorrow the unused money order fell out 
on the floor. “Dear friend” it read, “We are 
sorry to inform you that Berthe is dead. She 
died of a broken heart only last September 30, 
she could wait for you no longer. We are glad 
you have prospered. Karl and Lena.” These 
were the names of my sweetheart’s parents. The 
poor girl had probably died the afternoon when 
she appeared to me in the forest ; the white deer 
was her fading spirit. 

Like one struck on the head I staggered from 
the office. I saw no more of the white deer ; but 
I made myself an old man slaving in the lumber 
camps. ’ ’ 



V 



APPENDIX A. 


“A Frontiersman’s Diary” is of course an im- 
aginary composition, although it has a basis of 
fact. It is putting into diary form the story of 
the signing of the historic Pine Creek Declara- 
tion of Independence as told to the writer by 
the late Jacob Quiggle, Esquire (1821-1911) of 
Pine Station, Clinton County, Pennsylvania, 
whose grandfather, Philip Quiggle (1745-1800), 
was one of the signers. While most of those 
whose names were affixed to the document re- 
sided near the mouth of Pine Creek, the scene 
of the actual signing was within the palisade of 
Fort Horn, on the opposite side of the River, on 
the banks of Curts’ Run so it should be really 
called the Fort Horn, or even the Curts’ Run 
Declaration of Independence. The story of the 
burying of the signed document inside the stock- 
ade is undoubtedly correct, and with diligent in- 
vestigation might be unearthed. Philip Quiggle, 
the relator of these incidents, was a native of 
Cumberland County, but settled in what is now 
Clinton County as early as 1773. The land which 
he obtained by right of conquest from the In- 
dians, is still in the possession of his descendants. 
He revisited Cumberland County in 1777, and 
being an ardent patriot, enlisted in the army of 
the Colonists, eventually serving as Ensign in 
Capt. John Hamilton’s Company, Col. Samuel 
Lyon’s Regiment, Cumberland County As- 
sociators. 


389 






















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INDEX 


Page 

Introduction 13 

I Teedyuscung’s Face 19 

II The Man Who Loved a Fairy 34 

III In the Foothills 53 

IV Killy, Killy, Killy 68 

V Eleve 84 

VI Spiritually Dead 100 

VII One Hour of Happiness 121 

VIII The Play Girl 138 

IX A Frontiersman’s Diary 159 

X The Escape 174 

XI The Water Witch 187 

XII The Lonely Ghost 201 

XIII The Horse-Beater 218 

XIV Queen Elizabeth 232 

XV The Headless Man 26C 

XVI His Rival's Ghost 280 

XVII Canoe Place 298 

XVIII Golden Hour in the Camp 321 

XIX The Weathervanes 337 

XX Elphe Soden 350 

XXI The White Deer 374 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

There is no Grander View (Frontispiece) 

The Mouth of Moshannon 
“Peter’s Steps’’ 

Old River Bridge at Lock Haven, Pa. 

St. Mary’s on the Mountain 
The Great Island 
In All Its Majesty 
The Hand of Man 

Susquehanna River and Indian Island near Lock 
Haven, Pa. 

Cover designs, head-pieces and tail-pieces by Miss 
Katharine H. McCormick, Philadelphia, Pa. 

The front cover shows a view of the celebrated stone 
face of Chief Teedyuscung, on Mahantango Mountain, 
below P. R. R. Station, at Liverpool, Pa. 

u 136 80 


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